


Oil

by GlassesG33k



Series: Oil [1]
Category: Atlantis - Fandom, Stargate Atlantis, mcshep - Fandom
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Stargate Atlantis, Cannabis, Chronic Illness, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Illness, M/M, Marijuana, Other, References to Illness, SGA, SGA AU, Stargate, Stargate Atlantis Alternate Universe, Terminal Illnesses, illness/comfort, pot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-21
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2018-01-16 12:36:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 36,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1347706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlassesG33k/pseuds/GlassesG33k
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two tortured souls, one common goal, just to be fine again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Oil - Chapter I

**Author's Note:**

> **Title:** Oil **  
> **  
> Chapter Title: Prologue  
>  **Posted:** Friday, March 21st 2014 **Author:** GlassesG33k  
>  **Chapter Rating:** G  
>  **Overall Rating: R** – For mentions of Marijuana, drug use, explicit sex scenes with men on men action, illness, chronic illness, Hurt/Comforting and all kinds of just a BLAST totally FUN (and some not so fun) adult stuff, _Mmkay_.  
>  **Word Count:** 312  
>  **Spoilers:** None, if you've watched all the episodes and by this time I figure _**everyone**_ has, or you wouldn't be reading this Fandom anyway. ;-D  
>  **Overall Summary:** Rodney is a Liberal Conservative, John is a Conservative Liberal; can these two get along. *Dun Dun DUUNN... ;-D!*  
>  **Special Thanks:** I almost forgot! A BIG THANKS goes out to TactlessTruth for BETA'ing this for me on the spur of the moment. She's going through some really tough times right now and it was because of her struggles that I came up with this story. I hope this helps and is my little gift to you Tactless :-) And if anyone is so inclined she could really use some prayer right now, thanks. :-)  
>  **A/N:** I just want to address any concerns, despite the Terminal Category that this is listed under and my previous fiction, **_there shall be no death here!_** says me **;-D** , so don't worry, no one dies. And the very title is the reason.  
>  Just read and you'll discover WHY. :-)
> 
> **A/N2:** I'm opening this up to anyone out there. Take it, run with it, edit it, put your own ending on it, continue it, what ever you want, just do with it what you will. My life at the moment is far to Topsy Turvy to write more and what I do have left I don't know when or if I'll ever be able to post it, so I'm leaving it up to you guys. Take this story from this point forward and see what you can do with it, please for me. =-) Just link and reference back to this and I'll be more then happy. =-)   
>  And let me know if you wrote anything, I'd really like to see what the community comes up with. ;-D! 'Two Thumbs Up!' =-D   
> Hugs and Love to you all =-)  
> G.G. =-)
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Rodney's life began and general grypings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Posted:** Sunday, July 13th, 2014 
> 
> I just want to address any concerns, despite the Terminal Category that this is listed under **_there shall be no death here!_** says me ;-D, so don't worry, no one dies.  
>  Just read and you'll discover WHY. :-)
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
> 
> Well, I said I'd update it if I ever got the chance and now I finally have. :D! My sister was kind enough to edit the first three chapters of this for me and so I'm now posting it. Also, I've realized that this is so darn depressing that I hope to twist it, really give it a damn good spin and make it far happier then it's starting out. So I'll be posting more now, off and on as I can and don't worry it looks like I'm back for good now. :D! Let the peasants rejoice! :D!  
>  Oh! 
> 
> Yes this story is still open and anyone who wants to copy and take it from any point, writing their own continuation or ending on it, etc. is perfectly FINE with me and I'd greatly APPRECIATE it, for in MY mind copying is the epiphany and shows that what you created is good enough to be copied. ;-D! 'Two Thumbs Up' :D!  
> 
> 
> **P.S. –** I've TRIED to make this double spaced, unfortunately this site does not allow such things.  
> 
> 
> Thank you and now on with the story. :D!
> 
> **G.G. :D!**
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Chapter**   
**I ONE I**

  
To say Rodney McKay's life had not gone the way he had hoped would be an understatement.  
Before the age of one he found that everyone and everything around him was rather dull. By three he learned that if you're smart that simply means you're blamed for whatever goes wrong, and there's no way to argue yourself out of it.  
By five he learned that if you're poor, then you don't get a good education and are forced to sit in class with your brain rotting away no matter how much you insist that you already know everything. By six Rodney's family had moved down into the lower portion of the southern U.S. where he quickly learned what “corporal punishment” was, and that it was enforced in school. That year, Rodney learned that he was a “damned yank” and that since he was a “damned yank” it was his fault for every little thing, even concocted items or problems that had no basis in reality. Later on he would realize that it was prejudice he was beaten with verbally, socially and otherwise, plain and simple. Everyone around him denied it and instead pointed to his supposed flaws and all the ways he was evil. These evils included being born in Canada, being a “Democrat” though that was never true, and being, “for the damn niggers.”  Since everyone around him wanted him to, “Go home! Just GO HOME!” (which never made sense) and he couldn't they were going to eliminate him as quickly as possible in any feasible way. This meant that before he was six months into his school year he was spanked, extremely hard, with a compressed baseball bat the school called a “paddle”  by his teachers first, then the principle, and then yelled at hard by his parents at home for “acting out in class.” Thankfully his parents had the wherewithal to get the heck out of the U.S. and went back home to Canada.  
The next year he figured out that even though it was shit, Canada was better then America when it came to, well, everything. Life continued on after that, in one miserable way or another. His parents fought over him and his sister until his Mom died the very next year, when he was the age of eight.   
And then his Dad remarried. This time, he got the joy of far too many half sisters, three in all. Though they were sister in name only, as far as he was concerned. As time went on his damned parents kept on it like rabbits. He got way too many more siblings, till there were at least seven of them. Too many for Rodney to keep track of as far as he was concerned. The only one he ever really cared about was his whole or “real” sister as far as he was concerned. Somewhere along the way though she grew up, decided he sucked, and turned her back on him like all the rest.  
It didn't matter anyway. What did matter was math and his ability to use it. Through this medium he proved that he was right and had been right since the beginning.  Because of this Rodney pursued mathematics and applied physics, earning two simultaneous degrees. Once he was finally out of school he expected to be the first to get a Nobel prize. He'd sworn to work towards this goal. He had many theories and through the pure, perfect logic of mathematics he was able to finally start piecing together the origins of the universe and the meaning of life itself, as far as he saw it. Heck, if he worked hard enough he'd be able to get a Nobel Peace Prize within a decade. Upon his graduation Rodney was sure of all this. There was just one monumental flaw in it all though: money.  
After his degrees Rodney had no idea that he wouldn't be able to get a job, or at least one that paid well enough to keep his head above water. So in the end he spent his next years (which ended up amounting to the whole of his adult working life) breaking his back to keep his many and various positions, most of which didn't pay him enough to make ends meet and concluded before he could even collect a fourth paycheck. No one understood him and general tolerance for his type of caustic and blunt personality was rare, to say the least. He'd had goals and dreams when he had gone into this field and he quickly found that unless you had money coming out your ass then you were screwed from the get go. No matter who you knew or how many connections you made you were not going to pursue your goals, much less have your dreams become reality.  
After receiving his Ph.D. Rodney was finally able to snag a job that paid him better than the others.  
Unfortunately, better pay included accepting a position where he was working three jobs in three different departments at once and making a scant 50,000 a year, at best. Most years he only cleared 45,000. And that was before taxes and other personal and academic expenses. The school never told him he was going to have to spend his own paycheck to buy supplies for the various departments and students. Or that he would himself pay to have a piece of equipment fixed even though it was the fault of the school for not replacing said item when it was too old to be used without breaking. After subtracting those extra expenses, he was lucky to walk away with 20,000 in his pocket, which barely covered rent and sundry necessities. Rodney wished that the school would at least do him the courtesy of providing lunch; another “luxury” that came out of his pocket.  
It wasn't long, maybe five years into his new “career” that he finally had to stop and face it all. He wasn't going to reach his dreams, much reach his goal of a Nobel Prize. This caused him to review his life and try to figure out what the good was in sticking around if he wasn't going to be able to get his Nobel, or even answer his many questions about the universe. His mind went blank as if going dead already from the mere suggestion.  
Rodney wondered, if he was this bad off, then how much worse off were people working in the retail industry, or even his own students? Maybe that was why most of them smelled and looked like they were living in their cars. Perhaps it was because they actually were living in their cars. The sciences, back when he was young, had always been a sure bet for providing for yourself at least. A family too if you were so inclined and lucky. Rodney sat back and thought about that, wishing others had accepted him over the years; that people and, therefore, society were different. That would have made a better chance for him from the get go.  
But friendship and romance were something for the rich and he wasn't one of them. It was clear now he'd never be that lucky. Heck, he never did have and never would have the time to pick up a phone and call his sister to see how she was doing. No one wanted him around anyway. That was painfully clear. Being a thorn in everyone's side was, well, it made life downright impossible to live especially when everyone kept insisting that they were right and he was wrong, Wrong, WRONG.  It didn't seem to matter how many times he pointed out the obvious fact that everything was run according to some skewed social code and hierarchy that he still hadn't been able to crack. Rodney deflated and looked at the pile of student papers tossed on the table before him. No, he'd never be able to get what he wanted. Life was truly about making it to the end, which meant dying alone at the ripe old age of 80, for everyone died alone anyway, didn't they?   
Rodney rubbed his brow and looked away from the mess before him. The real question in the end was: “Why keep going?”   
It took the better part of a week, but he came to the conclusion that the only thing keeping him around was having enough money to support himself and not being homeless (though it was a close thing most of the time) like some of his own students were. Having enough money to get him by and be even slightly better off than someone else, such as the people who served him at the many and various drive-throughs and take out restaurants he frequented was about the only reward he'd be getting in this lifetime. From the looks of others around him some days it seemed to be a pretty big reward. At least he wasn't living out of a car with three kids, totally alone and trying to get a degree while working three jobs. Most importantly, knowing far more than anyone else around him was what got him to stick around, for the time being at least, or that's what he told himself.  Really though it was not being homeless and too busy and worn out at the end of each day to do anything else but sleep (in his office as usual) that stopped him from finally doing himself in.  
Time slipped by. Rodney did his damnedest to ignore it and speed it up as much as he could. Then, after he hit his late twenties something curious happened; time started to speed up. At first, he actually calculated whether or not it had sped up, since it clearly had in some odd way. He tried to blame it on technology, thinking that clocks were timing things faster. Perhaps they were giving fewer split seconds in every minute since business was wanting more work done faster.  It made sense to him, especially since everything ran on digital now instead of old fashioned mechanics; mechanisms which made harder and more obvious if you tried to tamper with them.  
Then, his thirties hit, and time suddenly started disappearing with out his knowledge of it. Before he knew it it was New Years, and then New years again, and it left him wondering when he'd missed his birthday and what year or how old he was now. He'd never known the world or life to go so fast and in the far back of his mind he started to believe that he was in some kind of wormhole, time dilation field or some other sci-fi oddity. He began calculating wormhole physics in scribbles on scraps of paper in his free time. Despite all of this, what came next he just wasn't ready for and it turned his world on its head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Originally Posted:** Friday 21, March 2014 Author: GlassesG33k  
>  **Word Count:** 1,824
> 
> **Cross-posted**  
>  **Archive of Our Own –** http://archiveofourown.org/works/1347706/chapters/2811697,  
>  **Live Journal –** http://glassesg33k.livejournal.com/  
>  **Dreamwidth –** http://glassesg33k.dreamwidth.org/  
>  **Tumblr –** hobbyhermit.tumblr.com  
>  **Facebook –** https://www.facebook.com/hobby.hermit
> 
> **Special Thanks:** To the best BETA in the world, Tactless Truth! *fanfare* :-D BIG thanks to her for BETA'ing this while ill, love you lots Tactless. :-)She's going through some really tough times right now and it was because of her struggles that I came up with this story. I hope this helps and is my little gift to you Tactless :-) And if anyone is so inclined she could really use some prayer right now, thanks. :-)  
>  **Additional A/N:** Since Tactless is very ill right now it looks like she will be unable to BETA the rest of this for me I'm open to anyone willing to BETA the rest of this for me, otherwise you'll have to put up with my editing of it past oh, say chapter 4.


	2. Oil - Chapter II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How John's life began and general grypings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **RePosted:** Sunday July 13th, 2014
> 
> My sister edited the first three chapters so I'm updating this section. ;-D!
> 
> **Originally Posted:** Friday 21, March 2014 **Author:** GlassesG33k  
>  **Chapter Rating:** PG  
>  **Word Count:** 2,092  
>   
>  **Cross-posted**  
>  **Archive of Our Own –** http://archiveofourown.org/works/1347706/chapters/2811697,  
>  **Live Journal –** http://glassesg33k.livejournal.com/  
>  **Dreamwidth –** http://glassesg33k.dreamwidth.org/  
>  **Tumblr –** hobbyhermit.tumblr.com  
>  **Facebook –** https://www.facebook.com/hobby.hermit  
>   
>  **Special Thanks:** TT, or TactlessTruth and now my sister for all of their help. :-)
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Chapter**   
**II Two II**

  
In an upscale strip mall not far from the local college campus was a shop like all the rest; posh, upper middle class, slightly snooty and offering the finest over-priced goods around. Half the shops were closed up for the night the others sporting “Open Late!” signs. The ones that were closed had a few lights on in front, their mesh gates drawn down all in an attempt to keep away all possible intruders.  
In the back of one shop stood a skinny six-foot-two-inch-tall man.  He leaned up against a beautifully crafted butcher block counter hopping around a bit as he lifted wiry yet well shaped arms. His tan nearly matched the well oiled wood as he brought the large metal bowl in his arms a bit higher. “Take the Money and Run” was playing in the background and the man was whistling along to it, singing the chorus of woo-hoos.  Despite the dark, hollow eyes and the near skeletal appearance, you'd never know that this man was haunted, his past a constant and at times literal ghost laying heavy on him. He'd struggled with suicidal depression and was still in the throes of PTSD, for good reason, but you'd never be able to tell it from his current actions.  
No, right now he was free, as free as his family had allowed him to be after he'd been dishonorably discharged and nearly court-martialed.    
         John Sheppard was born to a poor couple. His father left “the minute after I'd been born” as the ex-solider liked to phrase it. Soon afterwards his mother ended up meeting, then marrying a rich businessman. He was the owner of one of America's biggest and most renowned beer companies.   
Now, you'd think that, from this point on, John's life would be set. With a silver spoon in his mouth there would be no worries, no cause for weeping or strife. This was far from the truth.  Not long after marrying, John’s mother had her second child. By this time John was around six years old. His new dad wasn't so new in age and  it wasn't long before he bought a large plot of land “for the kids” and took early retirement. John's mother had several more children by his step-father and with each one John was seen as more of a “bad egg.”  
Since he was the son of a man who was irresponsible enough to leave his own child, John's parents made sure that he would not go astray, repeating what his biological father had done.  Everyday at the crack of o'dark-thirty in the morning, his new step dad would get him up to work in the fields alongside the immigrant workers they hired to help them run their farmland.  As the family grew, John's new siblings were taught that John was lesser than them and that he was not to be trusted or even listened to. When it came time to blame someone for anything at all, even something as small as the coffee pot going dry, John was the culprit.  John's mother was happy, well cared for, and more than glad she had managed to procure a good life for John. John saw it a bit differently.  
As the black sheep of the family, his step-father made sure to keep John’s hands busy, working him hard every minute he spent at home. As John's dad always said, “Jose'! Physical labor is a way to purge the soul of evil and make an honest man out of anyone; even you.” He'd wink then, and John never understood what the heck the guy was saying with that, as if it were some magic trick the guy was trying to pull off making him into some perfect … who knows what. Time passed and John was soon sent off to boarding, then prep school, all the while spending every second working his fingers to the bone when he was home for any length of time. When he asked why his brothers and sisters weren't made to work as hard or at what he was having to, he was brushed off.  
Because of his life, John always loved looking at the stars and the sky, needing to ride the wings of the air and be a part of the total and complete freedom that he saw up there.  When the chance to become an air-force pilot was offered he signed up. This enraged his step-father. His son was not going to become “cannon fodder” as it was called in upright circles; the rich and old money crowd which his father, and now the rest of his family, were a part of. His father intervened as best he could and nearly got John recalled from his service. Thankfully, it hadn't worked out and the old coot had died before he'd accomplished his goal.  
        To say the armed services didn't go the way he wanted or even expected would be an understatement. A bad trip to Afghanistan involving a downed chopper and he was back in the states being “dishonorably discharged,” but not for what you would think. As it turned out nearly a year earlier John's true self had shown through and Don't Ask Don't Tell had come up to bite him, literally.  
It had been found out by someone (John still wasn't sure who and to this day was sure that it was his father in some odd way) that he might be gay. He'd been more than celibate and had not even thought about sex since he hadn't dared put the ability to fly in danger. The two to three rare times he'd even allowed himself as much as a beer with a fellow understanding man was on leave, so the possibility that he'd so much as had sex while serving was out of the question. Despite this a case was built against him, with witnesses collected and evidence corroborated.  John was sure that it was his fathers last desperate attempt to get him back home and under his thumb. It was during this whole case that he'd been assigned to do a black ops mission and gone down behind enemy lines. He'd been lost, MIA, and had barely lasted six months before he was finally dragged out of there, not by his military but by another army. He'd made it back to the states on his own and quickly found out he'd been written off as dead in combat. It was not long after this that, as John saw it, that the Ghost of his Dad popped up and had his last laugh.  
Afterwards John managed to piece together what had really happened, or close enough to what had really gone down.  Whatever the original mission had been it hadn't been planned out well; if at all. When it went FUBAR John had been sent in to get specific items and all of the people out. He was ordered to blow the entire crash site to kingdom come, or be blown to kingdom come himself if he didn't make it out in time.  That should have been the obvious sign that this was not a desirable mission. Unfortunately he'd been a bit too trusting, innocent and willing to get out of dodge with the whole DADT investigation getting underway. The fact that they let him go should have been the other sign. Usually he'd be in a prison cell or worse off. Instead, he was allowed to get out for one last, as he thought, “career, name, and reputation-saving mission.” Wow, was he wrong.  
When John made it back to the states and to some form of military base it had been one heck of a sight to see men's eyes go from wide and shocked to narrow eyed boiling animosity in the span of a few seconds. It looked as if John and the whole crew who'd “died” with  him were rather famous, at least in the upper circles.  
The first place they sent him was a prison holding cell, and the rest of the time he was forced to relive over and over again the explosions, the dying of some of his closest friends, and then the “most shameful” part of it all; how he'd been gay; and through some of his own “magic” weaseled out of being court-martialed and gone on a wild goose chase for downed men; against orders to do otherwise. That last part was new and John wondered if they’d thought that tidbit up after he'd come back or before. It almost seemed spur of the moment; some creation of lawyers trying to make sure all asses were covered. Overall, it became abundantly clear to John Sheppard, that they were blaming him for the U.S. Military's screw up. They were using his name to cover their internationally shamed asses. In the end, it was somehow “found out” that he never should have gone on the mission anyway since he had, upon his departure flight to Afghanistan, been at that moment dishonorably discharged for being gay. Thankfully, because of that odd screw up (and more than likely a somewhat benevolent and loving person higher up), instead of wasting away in a military prison for the rest of his life, John Sheppard was released, walking free after merely eight months of mental (and emotional) torture. Since he was not technically part of the military when the whole debacle happened, the military was able to say that it had never happened in the first place. In the end the U.S. and its armed services were able to cover their asses that much better. Or that's what John figured after sorting it all out. Either way it meant that John was allowed to slip through the cracks and go free, since he was not with the military and had not “gone on the flight in the first place” when it all went down. Anyone else, as John testified, that had been involved with the mission was dead.  
Either way it didn't stop the never ending sleepless nights, night terrors or flashbacks that plagued him. He wandered around for about one to two years, which he never knew; homeless and starving then broke and went literally crawling to his family mansion. He sat outside for far too long, wasting away more than he already had. No one recognized or believed him at first, but thankfully, by another twist of fate, they finally relented and allowed him through the front gates.  
His brother had met him on the front steps of the house, given him his inheritance, some bags and told him to get out. It was at that point that John broke, weeping over his whole life right there. At least as far as he could recall. By the time he woke up he was being coddled by some strange woman on his father's couch and his brother was nowhere in sight. Thankfully he was cared for and his brother had informed him that he'd be more then welcomed back in if he was willing to toe the line. John couldn't take being jailed again, even if it was gilded; and with the air growing thick and the walls closing in he said no and fled for the open outdoors.  
As a compromise, John's brother rented him a tiny run down apartment, paying for it John found out, with part of his inheritance.  
After about another year or so John had finally calmed down enough to decide that he wanted to open a shop and drew up the business idea. He presented it to his brother, his brother telling him the money to do such was always his and John could do with it as he wanted. His jaw dropped and he took the money and ran, turning his back on it all. As a last middle finger to his old man and his ill treatment of him and how he'd raised John's siblings to see him as some lower filth, either to be stepped on or pitied, John opened a “joint shop” as he called it. Coming back to the here and now John blinked and lifted the bowl in his arms to the highest point letting the last of the chocolate drizzle out of it.  
Currently the way he felt was that yes, he was as free as the free fall he was still currently in, but he felt and hoped that it was starting to slow, maybe if he could just get it to stop entirely now.


	3. Oil - Chapter III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Rodney's life began and general grypings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Re-Posted:** Sunday July 13th, 2014
> 
> **Originally Posted:** Friday 21, March 2014 **Author:** GlassesG33k  
>  **Chapter Rating:** PG  
>  **Word Count:** 2,008  
>   
>  **Cross-posted**  
>  **Archive of Our Own –** http://archiveofourown.org/works/1347706/chapters/2811697,  
>  **Live Journal –** http://glassesg33k.livejournal.com/  
>  **Dreamwidth –** http://glassesg33k.dreamwidth.org/  
>  **Tumblr –** hobbyhermit.tumblr.com  
>  **Facebook –** https://www.facebook.com/hobby.hermit  
>   
>  **Special Thanks:** TT, or TactlessTruth and my sister for all of their help. :-)  
>  **A/N:** I just want to address any concerns, I know that in my previous series there was a character death, **_there shall be no death here!_** says me ;-D, so don't worry no one dies.  
>  And just to let everyone know the title is the whole reason for the character living … well, that's giving too much away I guess, *BLUSH!* =-)  
>  Just read and you'll discover WHY. :-)
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Chapter**   
**III Three III**

  
Rodney had graduated young, very young, with his first Ph.D. and had started working right after. In a true early definition of hell itself life dragged on in never-ending torturous boredom that would just not cease.  Being thrust into the adult working world when you still couldn't drive was not fun to say the least. Having to live at home while you were making enough to buy whatever you wanted sucked. What was worse was when Rodney went to buy what he wanted and found that he had no control over his own bank account, all his paychecks being printed in his parents names. This meant that when he wanted to buy a Spiderman Action figure, or a few comic books, or even the coveted Dungeon Master Manual he couldn't. Initially he'd thrown a fit and been grounded for it, and then had thought of calling the cops. In the end nothing had happened and his parents had pacified him with some candy and not having to have dinner. (He hated lima beans and brussels sprouts.)  It was fine till he woke up sick in the middle of the night his stomach not happy with the fact that he'd had candy for dinner.  
When Rodney had grown up enough to truly need that money he found that his parents hadn't even done him the courtesy of saving half of it, or even trying to help him by investing and subsequently losing it all.  
No instead he got to discover that his parents had taken the money he'd made and spent it, every last dime, on themselves and their darn kids; not leaving a penny for him. Terribly Rodney didn't get to find this one out util it was far past the point of too late. Yes, there may have been bills to pay and mouths to feed but they could have at least allowed him to live on his own and unburden them, rather than take his hard earned money away.  
Somewhere in there he'd done his best to get a second Ph.D. but it had never worked out. He had, as he called it, flunked out at a Masters Degree, too busy and poor to go further. He swore to himself he'd finish, some day getting a full doctorate, but as the years passed he soon had to face the truth, he was never going to get that second degree no matter how much he wanted it. Oddly enough when he'd been sitting down looking over his life (and planning out his future at the ripe old age of 19), and discovered this, he'd wondered if, when he finally passed, he'd be one of those restless ghosts, floating around the college campus he'd always wanted to go to, scaring young kids and having to read over people's shoulders as they disgustingly made out.  
Rodney shivered and went back to what he was doing at the time, never realizing how prophetic that silly and worthless passing thought would be.  
Before he knew it twenty years had passed … or maybe it was only fifteen, which he could never tell,  
and he was scraping the bottom dregs of 34 and had had enough. That was the year Rodney decided he'd quit his job, the one he'd managed to hang on to for a good ten years by then, and pursue his own ambitions. He'd get his last paycheck and, one way or another, do his damnedest to figure out wormhole theory, aiming to get his rightfully deserved Nobel Prize.  
Terribly that was the same year he found out he had cancer.  
This put all his plans on hold, and for a good two years or so, he went through life shell shocked and staring, not sure what hit him or what to do about it, much less what to think. Most days it didn't matter because he was too ill to get out of bed, even though he had to since sick days were not allowed in the “American Working Diet” any longer, as Rodney liked to call it. It was all Rodney could do to drag himself in and either teach, tutor, or just get through one measly day. He'd nearly been fired several times over and he soon came to discover that as long as no one asked he wasn't going to tell. Thankfully everyone in the work place was far too self absorbed to notice even a middle aged man bent over the trash can in the teachers lounge, or the sound of retching echoing off the walls every time they walked into a nearby men's room.  He also found that unless he missed work for any reason or wasn't late to anything, he was safe.  
For the whole of his working life he had the joy of watching one person after another get fired for missing as little as three days in one year, or being late only twice. Hell, he'd even witnessed time and time again people of all ages getting laid off, or their performance being under-graded simply because their kids had gotten sick, or their time was being monopolized because they had an elderly parent at home. Basically, if you couldn't spend an extra one to three hours off the clock getting much needed work done, then you weren't worth keeping around. And this wasn't just in the arena of the desk-jockey crowd; the few places he'd tried to work retail had been the same. If you didn't work off the clock then you were let go and no place would hire you again, whether you put your last employer down or withheld it.  Rodney had worked away watching through the years as unnumbered people were let go for obvious reasons.  There were some memorable ones though, he could count on both hands people who were fired simply because they had a disabled child. One poor woman had an insane adult child that truly needed to be institutionalized, that poor lady was laid off right when she finally got her kid admitted and was in need of the pay check.  
And then there were the elderly. The sheer number of old people he'd seen and even had the utter joy of being forced to do the firing himself when he was far too young ... yeah that had been horrible. Even back then he knew that most of them were ill, at least half of them had something terminal like cancer; so he knew better now not to let any of his cards (or in this case balding) show. Thankfully he'd always been a “right bitch” as his one friend had called him and he'd already been going bald, the process seeming to speed up as the years went by, so there was really no way for anyone to suspect anything.  
And the few times anyone noticed his weight loss, they always complimented him, saying how good he looked now, and young; some even going so far as to pull him aside and comment on how proud they were of him. (He must have really been getting fat, honestly he'd never cared and had never thought it was that bad.)  
At first he was upset, babbling half-formed words because he wasn't sure what to say. He felt enraged, insulted and scared that they'd figured out his secret and would let him go. Then, it occurred to him that he needed to use this to his advantage since it was the perfect way to hide. So when people came up to him he agreed, even going so far as to give tips and telling people his “secrets.” He looked up worthless willpower sayings for the more emotional large women who'd come up and try to start talking to him. (In the span of one Christmas week he'd had at least three crying on his shoulder and he wasn't about to let that happen again.)  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Still, getting cancer was not fun to say the least. The only upswing (if you could call it that) was that he lost weight, and a lot; fast. Going from rocking in at a good 350 American pounds to a mere 150 kind of took a toll on his mind and in a fit he stomped into his bosses office one day and quit. Granted by this time the disease was in remission and he had been given a six month tentative bill of health. After his next check up if he was clean then he'd be in the clear but the whole ordeal had left him needing to get some real personal work done. To his shock his boss begged him to stay and even let him, “go home; take the rest of the day off, and think it over first … okay?” Rodney just sat back and blinked. He'd never been refused firing before. In all the jobs, internships and whatnot he'd had over his lifetime he'd always been kicked out or “allowed to resign” far before he even wanted to leave. The fact that he lasted longer on this job then he had on owning a cat so far was downright amazing.  
So, instead of quitting he came back the next day with a list of demands, most of which consisted of literally breaking the job down into at least two if not three departments which should have been done in the first place. Now, instead of having to do it all himself, others would be running things and he would merely be there for show. And instead of having to babysit everyone and thing anymore he'd get a lab of his own and be able to finally start doing what he was promised in the first place, experimenting and calculating. Not relying on underlings (who screw up) to do it, but actually being able to do the mathematics himself. Now instead of working, say, eighteen hour days and being on call even after he went home, he'd only be working a mere eight to ten hours a day and not have to worry if some student blew something up once he left the office. He also made sure to put in for vacation and plenty of “professional days” since sick leave was frowned upon.  
His boss nearly said no, and despite all his pleading the day before, said he had to think about it.  
It took nearly two weeks and constant checking in but Rodney got his deal with a few adjustments.  
He was glad, and even relieved, but by this time he really didn't care anymore and nearly quit anyway.  
Initially, it looked like the cancer had gone into remission and that he was out of the woods, no more rupturing his esophagus in vomiting, no more aching and terrible pain, no more food having no taste and no appetite to eat anyway. Yes, until that day Rodney was free and clear again and about to start in on his new life, one of freedom and the health to actually do what he wanted to do in the first place. Until that day he still had … well, life itself.  
Then the call came in; he'd just gotten off the phone with his new oncologist and well; his cancer had come back or really it had never left.  As it turned out he had a small unnoticed tumor that his doctor and surgeon had missed and since it had gone unnoticed, it managed to go into his bloodstream, hence the call from a suddenly new and nervous sounding medical department. To say the call was telling was an understatement, how nice the receptionist was to how odd everyone was talking said it all; he didn't have long to live. Rodney hung up and stared at the claustrophobic pit of an office … He felt like he should call someone, ready them for his death. Get things prepared for his funeral or … or what have you. But … But there was no one to call.  
No one at all.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	4. Oil - Chapter IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introduction of Teyla, Ford and some Interesting Truths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Posted:** Friday 21, March 2014 Author: GlassesG33k  
>  **Chapter Rating:** PG  
>  **Word Count:** 2,545  
>   
>  **Cross-posted**  
>  **Archive of Our Own –** http://archiveofourown.org/works/1347706/chapters/2811697,  
>  **Live Journal –** http://glassesg33k.livejournal.com/  
>  **Dreamwidth –** http://glassesg33k.dreamwidth.org/  
>  **Tumblr –** hobbyhermit.tumblr.com  
>  **Facebook –** https://www.facebook.com/hobby.hermit  
>   
>  **Special Thanks:** TT, or TactlessTruth for all of her help. :-)  
>  **A/N:** I should probably say that I did very little research into the state of Colorado itself, Colorado's new Pot Laws, and the whole political debate over it. And I my knowledge of Cancer … I couldn't use what I know, so I just made that up for my own sanity's sake. Sorry for this.  
>  Opps ;-D! *Smirk!*  
>  Don't worry, if I continue I'll probably have to do some kind of research along the way.
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Chapter IV**   
**Four**

In a dark evening lit studio shaded in colors of rouge and navy blue a man in the nicest khakis and blouse walked on stage the lights coming up from black spotlighting him.  
“I'm Dan Saucey and thank you for tuning in to the late night edition of channel four news. We're hoping to make this a new part of our coverage and bring up topics of interest in the local community.” The blonde haired anchor turned toward the camera and gave it a big toothy grin. “During this hour we hope to present topics that will enlighten, make you think and even encourage you to talk to your family,” he paused waving his hand, “your neighbors,” the broad man walked over to a high posh leather and chrome bar stool, “and maybe even your local representatives.” He eased onto the seat in front of a large backdrop, his pasture looking over relaxed and a bit hokey. “We're hoping to encourage new ideas and solutions, and maybe even solve problems that have been plaguing our streets for years now.”  
The screen behind him lit up with images of the first topic for that night. “But overall we hope to open conversations, bring people together and find answers that will fit everyone. ”  
The camera angle changed and he turned with it, “and to start our first episode,” Dan folded his hands on his leg and smiled tilting his head down in a coy manner, “the story we'd like to present to you is one we've spent quite a bit of time researching lately. It begins with a young man...”  
~~  
“Hey I'm on!” Ford jumped up onto the counter in the front guest area of Farmacy. Ever since he'd been contacted by the local news station he'd been telling everyone he was going to be a star. Initially he'd gone to California for stardom but had quickly gotten involved in the 420 items and debates then gone entirely political fighting to change local laws and make things better.  
“And for our first story ...”  
One thing led to another and he soon moved out to Colorado seeing that his acting career was going no where and that he was far more politically minded than he had realized. He had a knack for being a politician and he was currently in law school working full time and going to school full time hoping to become a lawyer. He was nearing his bachelors currently and more then proud of it, he'd be the first in his immediate family to earn a degree of any kind.  
If Ford could help it he'd get his family and friends rights and even educate them, putting his own family members through school in the process. He wasn't as young and naive as he used to be but he still had big dreams, HUGE if you knew him.  
“Hey come on it's on!” he called over his shoulder swinging his legs. The large plate glass windows that made up the front wall of the Farmacy were covered in paintings and pieces of cardboard that advertised items to sell. In every way the Farmacy looked like any other drug store, hawking magazines, candy, toiletries, make-up, cheap clothing and the latest “as shown on T.V.” items. The place was sterile with everything having a place and everything in it's place. The only difference that could be seen were the counters. There were at least two long wide counters their bottoms made out of glass displaying all manner of items just like a bakery would. On top, splitting both counters in half were counter top display cases showing off the latest creations, holding cookies, brownies, muffins and other ”homemade” goods. Behind the counters were long finely crafted shelves, each and everyone holding medical merchandise in pills and other such forms.  
Overall you wouldn't really be able to tell this drug store from any other, yes it was a bit more homey and cozy and staked to the rafters with merchandise but it still was like any other store.  
The only difference was that most of the items being sold were “Freindly's” or made with pot, hemp or other such natural items in one way or another. Still the inside was sterile and perfectly set up, being like a true Pharmacy.  
“I am here.” Teyla the diminutive Ph.D. who was the overall manager of the place came out front taking her glasses off. She'd had a hard and long day dealing with inspecting their latest product. There were local quality control and inspection companies she could go to but she always needed to make sure that what they said was correct. Thankfully so far there had been no need to worry, everything had been clean of all debris, fungus, mold and pesticides as usual. She settled down and watched the interview pondering on growing their own and how much easier, faster and safer it would make things.  
Teyla got lost in her musing when Ford nudged her, “lookit.”  
“Pot is not about getting high, not at all,” Milessia Ethridge said laughing.  
“Wow...” Ford said watching the large T.V. in the corner. The T.V. had come with the shop and had been one of the main selling points when the strip mall had been put up. Teyla had gone in with the co-owner deciding that the place as perfect, it was big enough to expand if they needed to do so, but still small enough so that their current situation wouldn't appear lacking. Usually the T.V. was quietly playing in the background, the Weather Channel informing the patrons of the local weather, tonight though it was being used to inform the current employees of recent political events.  
Teyla looked over at the young man, his mouth was wide open in shock.  
“When you take chemo-therapy it literally wipes all your-the dividing cells out of your body. This is why your hair falls out, your nails fall out, and it won't grow back until the end of your treatment.” Mrs. Ethridge spoke to the interviewer just off camera.  
“Pot, pot gives you your appetite back and takes away the pain and swelling. The treatment takes the taste out of your tastebuds-so everything, I mean everything tastes BAD.” She made a waving wiping kind of motion, “so nothing tastes good. And then on top of that your horribly nauseous when your not vomiting so you don't want to eat, so overall the treatment is very very harsh on your body-these chemicals make you very very ill,” She shook her head. “It takes away your appetite and makes it so you don't want to eat. But pot, pot took away the pain all over my being” she waved her hand over her body, “it took away all my pain and it made me hungry-I got hungry for the first time in my treatment. I was hungry and wanted to eat. So to anyone about to go through this very harsh treatment, or going through it, I strongly suggest despite their moral obligations try it. Just try it when your on this treatment and see if it helps because it can, it really really can.”  
The announcer said a few more things and it went to commercial, Ford muting the large flat panel in the corner.  
“I had no idea!” Ford turned to Teyla.  
“Me either,” Teyla sat up adjusting her back, being bent over a microscope most of the day then the front counter now was not doing wonders for her. “I did not know she had become ill-infact until this moment I was not sure who or what she was, other then a country singer.”  
“Yeah I think she is, but I usually listen to somethin' else.” Ford turned back to the T.V. waiting for his chance in the spot light again. He'd already been shown once but of course he was hoping that wasn't the end of it.  
“Mm..” Teyla said.  
The two sat in companionable silence each lost in their own thoughts …  
“Hey,” Ford said.  
“Yes,” Teyla looked up at him.  
“Do you think I should go back into acting.”  
Teyla leaned back feeling her brows arch, she looked the young man up and down he was now getting on in years no longer as young as he used to be but in Teyla's eyes he'd always be a young boy.  
“Well I do not know...” She tapped the counter, “I do not know much about the acting business, would it mean you would stop being my courier?”  
“No not unless I get a part,” Ford shrugged at her, “I mean, I might be gone for like two three days at most and then back again. Unless I get a cameo in somethin' like a weekly T.V. show, then I might be gone for a week or at most, two weeks but I'd be back.”  
Teyla nodded, “well, is there anyone you could recommend to take your place if-”  
“I'm back on!”  
They both stared as Ford's “big moment” was once again being broad cast.  
~  
Ford sat in his car, a stylish economic hybrid vehicle. The image jiggled as he turned corners and weaved slowly around then in and out of the traffic. His ever present phone in one hand and blue tooth ear piece on.  
“Hey yeah-sorry customer,” Ford mumbled to the reporter, “yeah I-nice to hear from you too-you want your regular?”  
The interview went on and soon Ford turned the sound up, “Oh! This is-watch!”  
“I donno” Ford looked both ways before turning out, “I donno man I never really thought of it.” He was quiet, contemplative for a few seconds then, “couriers-we're the middle man-couriers-we don't ever really get caught,” he waved at himself and the car indicating, “we never get pulled over or anything, we carry so little around the cops just don't bother, we can't get arrested on such small amounts so...” he shrugged arching his neck to check traffic then turning so he could parallel park.  
The scene cut to him walking up to someone's house, “but yeah, we can't get caught on it. The cops, the cops, they never bother you cause we don't carry enough to get arrested on. They never have to worry or have trouble-I mean we're just the middle man,” Ford shrugged, “you know?”  
The scene cut back to him driving his car again, “ahh, really most of our clients are part of the older generation.” He looked both ways then pulled out, “yeah, yeah,” he looked over his shoulder then changed lanes, “their older-the older clients. They don't want to go into the shops and be caught, a lot of them will be in a head shop and will end up like standing next to their like kids Kindergarden teacher or Daycare worker or something,” Ford looked sidelong at the interviewer and gave a big mischievous smile, “kinda awkward-embarrassing,” he gave a slight chuckle of embarrassment himself, “ so yeah, they'd rather call and get it delivered.”  
The announcer went on and they showed a man in his early 40's who had had cancer. Ford did a delivery and brought him his order along with offering him the option to also buy a brownie much to the man's delight.  
“Yeah, yeah, what's that,” the man took the clear box from Ford, holding the item up, “who's shop?” He started reading the ingredients and labels on it.  
“Oh it's-” the program bleeped it.  
“Oah crap man! I told Shep. that he'd get free publicity!” Ford waved at the T.V.  
“Yes well, if you haven't noticed,” Teyla nodded at him, “they have not allowed any names or even specific places to be revealed on here.”  
“Yeah but they allowed the guy I delivered too, his name and his house to be filmed.”  
Teyla nodded, “I worry about that.”  
Ford looked at her, “you think he'll get arrested?”  
“I do not know, but after tonight I worry that he will be bothered, even fired, his house raided-even crooks-”  
“I don't think so man,” Ford said.  
“Well we'll see,” Teyla said.  
“So if he doesn't call then...”  
Teyla nodded.  
~~  
Ford and Teyla watched the show till its end, “well whadidyeah think?” he beamed at her proud as ever.  
“I think you did great,” she beamed right back just as proud and reached up and gave him a hug.  
“You did good Ford you really did good,” she mumbled into his shoulder and then let go leaning back.  
It was moments like these that motherly want and need to care for him overcame for a moment, but she shoved it away shaking herself. It wasn't like her to feel that way, to want those things, for her it was very out of the ordinary and very very strange. It was merely age and that darn biological clock she reassured, herself.  
She looked him up and down then inhaled long and loud and patted him on the back, “well! I believe it is time to close up, we have an early day ahead of us tomorrow-”  
“Yeah I know,” Ford moaned and slid down off the cashiering counter.  
“We open at five a.m.”  
“Oh God I know!” Ford stretched and then went about shutting the blinds and locking up. It was well past eleven already and they were both more then worn out.  
Ford was going to have to be up and at the store before five the next morning if even one of their clients needed healing herbs before work began.  
“Do you have an early delivery tomorrow,” Teyla said.  
“Nah, thankfully old Mr. Nether is all stocked up and won't need another till next week.”  
“Ah that is good,” Teyla smiled at the young man and went back to her business. Ford wouldn't have to be in till six, still that was early enough. For herself she would have to be here early at four thirty just to open up and get started on the day before customers came in. As of late they had begun holding new hours and had had to hire on many new workers.  
They were a Farmacy and a Quality Assurance company all in one. The Quality Assurance part had just been added with in the last month and it had caused an overload of work for the poor manager. Teyla wondered at times what her life would have been like if she had not initially gone into politics and then chemistry. If she hadn't been so bent on changing the world she might have made the time to try dating a bit more and longer, and by now she might be married with a child of her own.  
“Hey?”  
Teyla was taken out of her reverie, “yes.”  
“I'm done, I'll see you tomorrow okay,” Ford said.  
“Yes, be well Ford I'll see you tomorrow,” She nodded at him then waved as he slipped out the back of the store.  
Ten minutes later she had the place locked up and was heading home herself.  
~~~~


	5. Oil - Chapter V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's adult past life and general grypings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Title:** Oil Chapter Title: Chapter V- FIVE  
>  **Posted:** Monday March 24th, 2014 **Author:** GlassesG33k  
>  **Fandom:** Stargate Atlantis Pairing: John/Rodney  
>  **Chapter Rating:** PG **Chapter Category:** Gen  
>  **Word Count:** 2,734  
>  Chapter Summary: John's adult past life and general grypings.  
>   
>  **Cross-posted**  
>  **Archive of Our Own –** http://archiveofourown.org/works/1347706/chapters/2811697,  
>  **Live Journal –** http://glassesg33k.livejournal.com/  
>  **Dreamwidth –** http://glassesg33k.dreamwidth.org/  
>  **Tumblr –** hobbyhermit.tumblr.com  
>  **Facebook –** https://www.facebook.com/hobby.hermit  
>   
>  Disclaimer: Refer back to the top of the page on the Prologue or First Chapter, here: http://glassesg33k.livejournal.com/  
>  **Special Thanks:** TT, or TactlessTruth for all your help. :-)  
>  **A/N:** Yeah, this one doesn't have that great of an ending, I didn't know how else to finish the chapter and it was so natural I decided to just leave it. *shrug!*
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Chapter V**   
**Five**

John Sheppard's arms shook as he tried to keep the bowl of rich refined chocolate above the invisible line only he knew of. If he lifted it any higher or let it stray to a lower point then the chemicals wouldn't do what he wanted them to and the dark decadence wouldn't come out as delicious.  
After deciding to open a food shop John managed to enroll and graduate from a local cooking college. It was a four year degree but still he as proud of it, especially since he still had memory problems even after all this time.  
Studying had been nearly impossible, every time he holed himself up in some place still and quiet the terrors would rear their ugly heads. At first it was all he could do to actually see the words on the page and not his past lovers face screaming in blood up at him.  
He'd find the very lines of letters swirling into the horrors he'd experienced, taking on a swimming 3D form then snort awake to find he'd dozed off once again.  
It'd been one hellish fight but he'd managed to learn and get through school. After this he took a few chemistry classes, and one Nutrition class. Oddly enough the chemistry classes had been easier and he had even been able to get lost in it a bit; maybe it was because it was so math heavy and for whatever reason math always made him felt better. When he was at his most uptight or over burdened he'd sit down and start doing high end calculations, it as the only thing that saved him at times, at least it had been, before he'd become homeless.  
It wasn't until he tried out chemistry that he'd even been near calculations again. Initially he'd feared it thinking it'd cause flash backs, since flying demanded so much math and demanded that you be able to calculate in your head.  
He was shocked and wary but greatly relieved that the math required to be done for chemistry didn't cause any kind of; harm. Still John wasn't about to push it, he knew that if he did something as foolish as sitting down and pressing the matter, forcing himself to say do high end physics in his head again, like he had when he'd been locked up … well, he just wasn't that stupid.  
He wanted to live in this world, the here and now, not be ripped back to his past against his will, even if it meant “curing” him, like that one damn shrink said.  
His brother had dragged him into a psychiatrists office, thankfully only one time and the shrink had suggested that John be forced to relive and retell what had occurred, a type of immersion therapy or what have you.  
John knew right then and there that Shrinkdom was nothing but shit and he as not about to return; ever. He'd gone entirely holistic after that and was proud of the fact that he hadn't seen nor been to one single doctor so far. ( But really he didn't have the money for it anyway.)

John was brought back into the here and now by the fact that his bowl was empty and it was time to scrape it clean. He reached over hopping and with a wince snagged the wide and short bendable rubber spatula. He scrapped the bowl out as best he could his arms starting to vibrate with the effort. Patiently he waited, allowing the fine chocolate to pour onto the cooled mixing marble directly in front of him. This was the most critical part of the whole process, folding the delicate confectionery. If done too slow or allowed to set it would be ruined, if done to fast it would make air bubbles and stress the chemicals that made up the chocolate itself.  
Terribly when John finally started in on learning how to cook he found that for him at least, it was more like an art form then a science. Every day he had to delve into himself and do deep inner examinations just to produce a product. What did he like in flavors currently, what did he like when he was young, what did his mother like, for she had some interesting yet widely enjoyed tastes. Then he had to try and recall items that he liked in his childhood, and when he was finally done with the preliminary research he had to make up a sample batch and pass the creations around, finding out what others liked or disliked, then go back and do the whole thing over again if it needed correcting or to be scrapped and tried a new all over again. John hated every second of it, the whole thing a torture since each and every every minute, of every day, caused him to relive his terrible past in some way. At the oddest times and in the strangest ways something involved in cooking would cause his mind to recall a long lost incident. Maybe a smell or a taste would ignite some fleeting memory, it was never too bad and he was able to shake his head, wiping away the wisps, like the tendrils of ghosts surrounding him. As long as he felt the cool metal of his mixing bowls in his hands, or the marble counters touching his legs, the music playing and the most important; the caustic smell of cleaning products mingling with the refined foods surrounding him (something that never existed in Afghanistan) he was fine.  
All John had wanted when he moved here was to get away from it all, instead he ended up delving head first into it.  
That was one of the reasons he still struggled to this day.  
On an upswing along the way John had found that he really enjoyed the free and easy form of creating salads, sandwiches and soups. He had hopes initially of opening a sandwich shop but was told this would never work, that you can't just sell sandwiches and that “there's already a Subway, so it's worthless, don't try it.”  
Not wanting to waste his money and taking the advice to heart he searched around for what else he could do. The pot debate was getting underway and everywhere John looked stores were popping up and proclaiming to make a good bit of money, he decided then that it was a good business venture and that he'd start up his own. In a nice way it was a massive middle finger to his old man and his “oh so caring family” while still being “respectable”.  
So he opened a “Friendly” shop, a place where he sold “gourmet munches”, he had his creations; confections, soups, salads and sandwiches, but what really drew his crowds in was the pot laced items.  
If someone wouldn't go near a health food store they'd go into his place simply because he offered items that most health food stores didn't offer.  
And when the shoppers became hungry they could try out one of his new inventions. Nearly everyone became a fan of his food and it was a fantastic way to offer new items to people, get recurring customers and even loyal patrons.

Placing the bowl aside John picked up his instruments, two harder large hand sized flat spatulas of sorts and started in. Folding the chocolate on marble was meant to cool it slowly and evenly making sure that the molecules bonded correctly.  
The whole trick was to make sure it was done at just the right pace, some liked listening to music as a jeweler would when cutting diamonds and on any other day John Sheppard would be doing just that, one of his regular tunes on in the background setting the tempo and therefore the consistency of the delicacy he was creating, but today was a bit different. As of late there had been great debate over his very living and he needed to know the outcome. Currently at 10:00 p.m. the local channel was showing an hour long info-taiment kind of story in precursor to the main news broadcast. It was the local evening news that John didn't want to miss one bit of so he left it on the channel though the story currently showing was pretty darn good. He had what all the other shops in this strip mall had, a large flat screen T.V. out front for the customers to watch. It had come with the store and was one of the main selling points when it was being offered. John had thought about it for all of two hours then snatched it up making sure to negotiate for a few much needed “perks”. Thankfully the sellers were more then willing to cater to him and he got what he'd asked for and more. In the end John had gotten the right to augment the place as he saw fit, something he still hadn't done.  
The place came decorated with dark marble counter tops, deep honey wainscoting and hunter green paint on the walls and to John's eye it looked good so he saw no reason to change it.  
He did shell out for nice glass topped tables and some butcher block wood for certain mixing items, and three T.V.'s, one as large as the 52 inch flat panel out front. When it was all said and done his shop was a bit nicer having one large screen T.V. out front and one in back for the workers, they also had two other flat panels but those were behind the main ordering counters for food so customers could see if their orders were up.  
Yes John had shelled out for the three T.V.'s, the main one that came with the store currently showing the local channel, it had been worth it and he didn't regret it one bit, infact he was glad he had spent so much it made life quite a bit easier.  
Currently the radio was playing with the two T.V. screens mumbling along, the noises making a cacophony of talking and singing which allowed John the ability to tune one out when he wanted. He didn't like being alone like this, it always set him off now. Before he had needed solitude but after trying to study in the quiet library of the local school he found that having some kind of life around him helped a lot more then his mind being allowed to go wild, creating enemies and shadows that were trying to creep up on him.  
Overall at night now John found that if he played the radio or at least one of the T.V.'s then he didn't feel so alone and vulnerable. (Maybe it was all the times he'd been beaten by individuals and groups while on the street that was now causing his near freak outs when things were silent. When he'd been in the armed forces and even after, he'd needed silence and couldn't get enough of it. Being homeless corrected that fast.) Whatever the cause he didn't need day-mares or day-terrors as he called them, and if he was awake he made sure to have anything and everything surrounding him that would ease his mind.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~  
“So according to the federal government Marijuana is more lethal and dangerous then Heroine, Meth and Cocaine combined.”  
The television droned on in the background as John carefully folded the slowly cooling dark chocolate before him.  
*tack tck tck tack tack takc...*  
John looked up, his bi-weekly masterpiece nearly done, someone was rattling away on the front doors, tapping the glass. He ignored it his flow thrown off and tried to get back into his creation but the noise became worse. Soon he couldn't ignore it anymore and from the shouts it sounded like several people, maybe a small crowd was trying to gain entrance. Whatever was going on it sounded very dangerous in one way or another.  
John reached for his gun and instead got his cell phone glad he'd had the presence of mind what felt like so many years ago now to place the damn thing right where he was always reaching. He took it out and made a call, just to be safe.  
Pausing for one more moment to debate letting go of his nearly done creation he sighed. There was nothing he could do, maybe he could pass it off as some thing else, but for the life of him he couldn't come up with anything at the moment. And it really didn't matter anyway, the wanna-be intruder or burglar was getting very agitated and John had the terrible feeling that it might be the cops or some other kind of law enforcement. Thinking of that he wondered if he should call his lawyer. Instead he called Ford, his delivery boy. Ford was a good guy and worked for him and a few other mutual businesses. John decided that he was the lest to attract attention and be more understanding if he needed help. Ford was also a friend and if something happened then he wanted someone to know. Back when he was in the armed forces and then homeless he hadn't cared what happened to him after he passed away, John had figured he'd be dead so what would he care. But as of late, with age and ailments creeping up on him he'd started to really give a crap, wanting a funeral and all, just some modicum of respect, you know? He had no idea what changed but whatever it was John wanted someone to find him and then carefully and with great care take care of what was left of him and put his body to rest.  
“Damn,” Ford's phone was off so he had to leave a message.  
“Hey yeah it's John, I've got some trouble at my place and I just thought I'd let you know ...” John leaned to the side peeking out from the kitchen and preparation area of the shop. Despite all the ruckus there didn't seem to be a crowd. The idea of a whole town being out, just like in Afghanistan with more or less pitchforks and fire torches trying to break into his shop and take it down shot through his mind. John glanced up at the still playing news, it would have been from the main topic tonight that would send the town out for blood, that's for sure.  
“Yeah, I don't know what's going to go down here, I just need you to come by and check up first thing as soon as possible tomorrow morning,” John grimaced, “If I don't end up on the news first,” he chuckled giving a smirk. He doubted that something that bad would happen but couldn't help saying it.  
The place had been locked up for the night at 10:00 p.m. and all John's regular customers would know that.  
“Hey! Hheeeyyy!” the doors were now being pounded on, “I can hear you in there!” someone's muffled voice called through the thankfully rather thick glass. It was one of the reasons John had chosen this place, it made him feel safe, or it had until tonight.  
Tonight though was showing him that no matter where he was he was still far to vulnerable, especially in this business.  
He lifted his cell making one last call before he confronted whatever was out there.  
“Damn it,” John hung up, he'd had to leave a message instead of being able to talk to his legal help directly. He could have really used any and all possible info right then.  
“Come on! I know you're in there I can hear you from here! I can see you for god sakes!”  
The attitude and inflection were that of a teenager but the voice was that of a rather aged adult.  
John finally inhaled and in hopes that he wouldn't be arrested for being burglarized marched to the front door empty handed. He knew enough by now that if someone like him in this kind of a shop were to even attempt to defend himself the poor shop owner would just be jailed for “beating the robber”, or “going to far” or “far to harsh self defense” as had just happened in a case not a month ago.


	6. Oil - Chapter VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Chapter Summary:** Rodney's current pains and situation.  
>  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Title:** Oil **Chapter Title:** Chapter VI- SIX  
>  **Posted:** Monday 24th, March 2014 **Author:** GlassesG33k  
>  **Fandom:** Stargate Atlantis **Pairing:** John/Rodney  
>  **Chapter Rating:** PG **Chapter Category:** Gen  
>  **Word Count:** 1,242  
>   
>  **Cross-posted**  
>  **Archive of Our Own –** http://archiveofourown.org/works/1347706/chapters/2811697,  
>  **Live Journal –** http://glassesg33k.livejournal.com/  
>  **Dreamwidth –** http://glassesg33k.dreamwidth.org/  
>  **Tumblr –** hobbyhermit.tumblr.com  
>  **Facebook –** https://www.facebook.com/hobby.hermit  
>   
>  **Disclaimer:** Refer back to the top of the page on the Prologue or First Chapter, here: http://glassesg33k.livejournal.com/  
>  **Special Thanks:** TT, or TactlessTruth for all of her help. :-)  
>  **A/N:** Since I'm not going to be able to post this Wednesday I decided to go ahead and post Chapter 6 today. Enjoy =-).
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Chapter VI**   
**Six**

It had started the night before.  
Another night spent too hot or too cold, bits and pieces of him were shivering ice while others were burning hot. All the while the bed was uncomfortable and his mind was blank with worn tiredness. This was the second night in a row where he couldn't sleep.  
The second night in a row where his nerves were firing off, his whole body caught in a shower of sharp painful pinpricks. Except these weren't pin pricks as in pins and needles when a leg falls asleep no, this was more like trillions of itchy, irritating to the point of raw pin point knives stabbing with the force of a train into each and every one of Rodney's pores.  
The now rather thin professor rolled onto his side and tried his damnedest to actually get back to sleep. For whatever reason he'd gotten tired very early on and had been able to lay down and snooze for about two hours while in his office at school, but now that it was the middle of the night sleep was eluding him. Rodney sat up and sighed, there was no reason for this, no reason at all. Giving up he put the light on and tried for some light reading, picking up War and Peace he went to work. So far he'd found that after a good two, maybe four pages on his more stubborn nights, he'd be out like a light. The author truly had a talent for putting people to sleep, it was unrivaled from all the other items Rodney had read, even his old college textbooks which initially had been real snoozers. He hadn't gotten very far in War and Peace and was barley an 8th of the way into the book. In all honesty he wondered if anyone in history had been able to suffer through reading the whole of this piece and why in the world it had been deemed a classic, maybe it was because the guy had friends in high places which definitely seemed to be the case from what was written. That is, if this authors book was anything to go by when it came to his personal life.  
Sadly it took a bit longer than Rodney had expected, several times over he had been nodding off the book drooping in his hand and he'd shut the light off, slip down into the covers, relax and; his eyes and whole body would wake wide up. It wasn't until 7 a.m. that he finally managed to doze off only being ripped from sleep when the 10 a.m. alarm went off. Granted he didn't have to go in till 10:30 a.m. but still not being able to sleep, or even call in sick was just too much.  
Granted by this time he was able to set his own hours and had ample privacy which he was more than relieved for, so at least there was an upswing that no one else would have in his position. It still didn't get him the much needed sleep though or the ability to lay back down and at least doze during the day, even though it'd turn his hours all around and make him feel even worse then he already was.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
When he woke up there was the tell tale sharp ache like a massive knife flaying him from his spine outward. The whole of his body was pain and when he got up he was blind from it.  
He went through his regular routine gingerly doing everything, cranky as all get out. Even getting dressed was beyond agony, the clothing itself a weight that rubbed and prickled his skin, rough and pure red to the point of raw, chafing.  
He'd gone into work not able to think of anything, the pain overriding everything, and had ended up staying late again, or what was late for him now, thankfully.  
By eight o'clock he was on his knees begging a god he'd never even given the merit of existing to just let his agony end.  
He pleaded and made deals, all of which he knew from psychology was what most people who were faced with death went through. Then it hit him that he might be dying and just not know it … it sure as hell felt like it.  
His mind and memory had been shot all day, concentration was zero and being able to even take in information was not gonna happen, even through he'd waited all day for the torture to subside. Usually at some point it did but his original ongoing back problems coupled with his new nerve problems set him on edge.  
By the time Mrs. North directly across the hall was ever so kindly wrapping that damn box with as much packaging tape and love as she could manage Rodney had had enough.  
He'd been doubled over elbows on knees, rocking back and forth, hands over his ears the very sound like tin foil fingernails scraping against the chalkboard of his nerves.  
He'd had no sight and no idea he'd been doubled over in the first place till it suddenly dawned on him, after the initial shock of his realization, that he was standing in Mrs. North's office and had nearly outed himself.  
It was the need for his job and control again that had forced him to turn on his heel and literally run out of there. He'd grabbed his keys and driven down to the one place he'd been sticking his nose up at every time he'd had to pass it.  
He'd even changed the route he took to work just to avoid this area after it had become legal to use the stuff for recreation. He'd voted against allowing Marijuana to be sold for medication and had even written a few letters to several publications about the evil dangers of allowing the drug to be sold as open and frivolously as liquor.  
Now he stood, despite himself and what had been left of his better judgment, outside the one place that seemed to be open.  
He looked at the sign again, it said that the place was open till 10p.m.,10:30 on some nights and it was barely nine o'clock, what could be keeping them he had no idea. When he'd arrived the whole place was empty and looked like it had been closed up for the night. He tried the door again hoping he'd pulled on the wrong one, then tried pushing thinking it was like that Far Side cartoon with the “smart” kid, but both doors were locked. He cupped both hands around his eyes and peered in, the lights were still on and the whole of the place was rather warm and welcoming looking. It was just empty, very empty. He craned his neck and saw that the large flat screen up in the corner had on some wanna be “news cast” like 60 Minutes or something. One of those “info-tainment” episodes displaying images and talking about some obviously dumb subject with a skewed perspective.  
Rodney glared at the whole of the place wishing that the damn pot heads would quit getting high for one damn second and actually serve a possible customer when he started knocking; loudly.  
After a few seconds he found himself yelling at the top of his lungs pouring out the whole of his pain, worry and life.  
~~~


	7. Oil - Chapter VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rodney and John meet, sparks fly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N2:** Some incidents occurred and I have a few announcements to make.  
>  I didn't want to address this but needs to be dealt with.  
>  Real life has reared its ugly head and I am unable to ignore it any longer. :-/! I am pressed for time so bluntness is the most expedient way for me to deal with the matter at hand, please forgive me if I am a bit crass and offer T.M.I. for I do not mean to. ( **T** oo **M** uch **I** nformation)
> 
> I have a dear and close friend who is going through some very tough medical things right now and needs my help. Because of my own struggles with depression and the slight falling out I had with her upon finding out how ill she really is I did not write for a while on this story. New events have caused me to pick it back up here, mainly the greatly encouraging comments, though they may be few they were what I needed to continue. 
> 
> Thank you all, it's amazing how such a small thing can help out so much :-) X's and O's to all of you :-) But because of this for the next 3-5 weeks I'll be posting only on the weekends, so check in every Sat. and Sun. for updates and most of that will more then likely be PWP items. 
> 
> I desperately NEED everyone's encouragement and comments on what I post here and on these items especially. I'm an A-Sexual and have studied sex and all the stuff that goes with it. I am now trying my best at “applying” what I have learned and the first step is writing about it. (Like a paper at the end of college, the first step is writing.) So PLEASE let me know if I am getting it right. 
> 
> Let me know if what I am writing is enjoyable and if you feel so inclined what I may have written correctly or you loved the most. If anyone has any critiques at all then PLEASE I BEG of all of you to LET ME KNOW. Only through criticism will I grow as a writer and I DESPERATELY NEED THIS. (Unfortunately everyone seems to rather like being mute or praising, which I'm more then for. ;-D, the praising that is, I NEED the ego boost to say the least, but it also doesn't help me grow. :-/! )  
>  Anyway, that's it. 
> 
> **PLEASE show your support** for my writing **by clicking the Kudos button or better yet letting me know what you liked about it, or how it made you feel. :-)**  
>  Every comment, share, like etc. etc. is a BIG Pick-Me-Up for TactlessTruth ( and me =-) ) so PLEASE show your support by reading this fiction and spreading the word to any and all communities and people who might like to read it also.  
>  Thank You and may you be blessed =-)  
>  **G.G. =-** )
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Title:** Oil Chapter **Title:** Chapter VII- SEVEN  
 **Posted:** Tuesday, April 1, 2014        **Author:** GlassesG33k  
 **Fandom:** Stargate Atlantis                   **Pairing:** John/Rodney  
 **Chapter Rating:** PG                               **Chapter Category:** Gen  
 **Word Count:** 3,305  
 **Chapter Summary:** Rodney and John meet, sparks fly.  
  
 **Cross-posted**  
 **Archive of Our Own –** http://archiveofourown.org/works/1347706/chapters/2811697,  
 **Live Journal –** http://glassesg33k.livejournal.com/  
 **Dreamwidth –** http://glassesg33k.dreamwidth.org/  
 **Tumblr –** hobbyhermit.tumblr.com  
 **Facebook –** https://www.facebook.com/hobby.hermit  
  
 **Disclaimer:** Refer back to the top of the page on the Prologue or First Chapter, here: http://glassesg33k.livejournal.com/  
 **Special Thanks:** TT, or TactlessTruth for all of her help. :-)  
 **A/N:** Once again, PLEASE show your support for my writing by clicking the Kudos button or better yet letting me know what you liked about it, or how it made you feel. :-)  
Every comment, share, like etc. etc. is a BIG Pick-Me-Up for TactlessTruth ( and me =-) ) so PLEASE show your support by reading this fiction and spreading the word to any and all communities and people who might like to read it also.  
Thank You and may you be blessed =-)  
 **G.G. =-)**

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Chapter VII**   
**Seven**

When John got to the door he found it was only one skinny ill looking middle aged man. He was hunched, drawn and bald, his eyes deep in his sockets and dark as if he hadn't slept for a whole lifetime or longer. He was pale and shook like he had some muscle disorder, his fist knocking on the metal part of the door. John couldn't tell if he was purposefully pounding away or if the man was unable to control his movements, his hand jerking despite himself.  
John walked up to the door, the man babbling so fast he was incoherent, and unlocked it doing his best to be polite.  
“Can I help you?”  
“Yes, I need ...” this actually gave the guy pause, he licked his lips his mouth hanging open for all of a few seconds. John could see that his teeth weren't perfect, one overlapping another and his top teeth, there was a bit of a gap there; not as big as Letterman's but it was still present.  
“I donno what I need, just give me something I'm about to die here!” the guy waved his hand and bent his head more or less ramrodding his way past John and into the shop.  
“Ahh, actually were close-”  
“You're sign says open till ten or are you deaf and blind-” the guy pointed, “and I'm not about to be refused simply because I don't have some quacks card stating that I need the shit you sell here. And since it's now free a for all I suggest you pony up!”  
John blinked and put his hands up taking a step backwards, “ahh,” he didn't know if this was a robbery but that sure sounded like it.  
After a few seconds the guy actually shuffled over to a seat and plopped down deflating as he did so.  
“Oh my God!” he rubbed his back, “do you know how long-I can't believe I can't stand up for a measly ten minutes now with out-” he cut himself off his head snapping up to glare at John. “I thought you were gonna get me my order,” he frowned.  
John's felt his own brows jump, “what,” he turned his ear towards the guy and frowned one brow at him. This guy was nuts, great just what John needed tonight, some insane asylum escaped druggie needing a high.  
“I want the best of whatever you've got-here...” the man reached around and John nearly dived for his gun, which again didn't exist anymore.  
“This should be enough,” sick guy took out a wad of bills, mostly fifty's and twenty's, and piled them onto the table, “infact just charge it,” he took out a credit card and dropped it on top of the pile, “I don't care anymore if I lose my job-I've lost it anyway with what I said tonight so really the last thing I'll have going for me is getting high.” the guy grumped like John's great-grandfather and turned away. John squinted and took in the man's profile, infact if he didn't know better the guy did look like his great-grandfather, smelled a bit like him too; but only after his treatments, or what-have-you; right before the man died. But he had lived a good year, year and a half before-  
“Alright, I know what I said earlier and how I'm allergic to everything and yes I might just be allergic to your stuff too. But really don't worry about it-what I said earlier,” the man waved his hand over the pile of money in front of himself, “I'm in so much pain right now that a heighten allergic reaction and going via-how did that guy off X-Files put it?” the man actually put his finger to his bottom lip and struck a thinking pose, “auto-erotic-asphyxiation; is actually better then what I'm experiencing right now. So if I do keel over in your store you won't be blamed for it. If you really want just give me the damn stuff and you'll never and I swear-” he cut his hand through the air, “never hear from me again. And don't worry, I don't have any kind of family or friends of any kind so you won't have to worry about people out for revenge or blood or whatever,” the guy finished sighing like he was suddenly about to puke and leaned forward putting his elbows on the table top. He let his forehead drop into his hand and wrung his head.  
“You know it's odd, I always thought it was so terrible to go bald, and that the cause was because I was wringing my hair … You never know how much you need to wring your own hair until it's gone,” he chuckled and then turned to look at John. “What.”  
John just stood there, then had the great need to ask, 'what's wrong with you.' but he thought better of it. The man's eyes narrowed anger igniting in them.  
Before John got a chance to decide if he wanted to serve the guy or not the man started babbling again, this time getting even more angry then he was before.  
Not knowing what else to do John turned and went into the back. He grabbed up one of the small measuring cups he'd created for the half an ounce servings and scooped up the chocolate he'd been working on. It was made with pot-butter which was a creation of his own, the chocolate also had it's own pot mixed in. He had combined the two, the next step would have been mixing in some more marijuana along with other ingredients. This was the base mixture that he used to create his fine confectioneries, boxes of bon-bon's and melt in your mouth fudge, along with fruit dipped and drizzled in this and white chocolate.  
Usually this base wouldn't even be touched until he was done perfecting it, and the items he made with it were far more fancy then this.  
John was so flustered and upset he just grabbed up a scoop of the stuff and shoved it into a plastic dipping cup, popping a lid on.  
Never before had he stooped so low as to give a customer a raw unfinished product.  
John marched back out front and slapped the container down in front of the guy. He spun and walked away,“don't let the door hit'yeah'ass!” he waved over his shoulder hoping the guy would get the hint.  
John was in the back before he heard the guy making noise again.  
“Wait-what!?”  
John heard the chair scrape, stuttering across the floor and winced, he'd made sure the feet of the damn things were capped so they wouldn't screech when slid across the tiled floor. To make any kind of noise with those damn things you really had to press hard and work on it.  
“Don't you want me to pay for it!?” the guy sounded like he was shuffling, yes shuffling his way into the back. John scrunched his face up upset with himself for not installing a proper door in the place. The doorway between the back preparation area and the front customer area was a two person wide archway with counters on either side.  
“Keep it!” John waved him off.  
“No! As contradictory as this is I don't want to get arrested for not paying for the stuff-an' don't you have a profit margin or some such crap to deal with-” the guy changed mid breath, “of course I don't want to get caught paying for it either if I get pulled over leaving here.” The guy slapped his hand over the top of the tiny container and looked around as if he or the item in his hand was about to be ripped away. “Actually can I just eat it here-just in case. I don't want...”  
John actually stood back, grabbed his hair and nearly yanked it out. Never before had he ever encountered someone like this. For lack of what else to do he actually did his damnedest to stop himself and his whole world at that moment, employing a Buddhist, Hindu, Taoist or god knows what religion it was that, that one guy was trying to shove off on him that one day, technique and tried to stop his mind from thinking.  
Then he took Teyla's advice of all things and breathed in as deep as he could through his nose, long and slow-or as slowly as he could at that moment … then let it out … releasing all his tension.  
“Oh,” the Guy said.  
…  
“Oh wow,” Guy said.  
…  
John inhaled again and let his arms reach out and his hands splay wide, then decided to go all the way and imagined a wind moving all through him taking his tension and rage, his overall uptight … ness, and washing it all away …  
“Oh god-aahhh...”  
John heard shuffling.  
“Are you okay,” the guy said.  
John felt his shoulders un-pop and his arms go lax, god it felt good.  
After a minute he was able to open his eyes and think for all of ten seconds.  
Maybe it was because the damn customer was finally silent, and thankfully looking scared instead of like he'd been horribly offended and wronged.  
“Ahh,” the guy swallowed.  
“How about you eat it out front,” John nodded at him putting his hands on his hips. He tried giving his best smile to the guy, the one he used to always have in place but until lately he hadn't been able to drag up. He'd figured it was dead, buried somewhere in his past, with his lover and dreams, but this monster that had just stormed his little safe haven was able to get him to, through sheer need to be rid of the guy, drag it back up again.  
John shook his head, it's amazing how something as simple as a smile can go from being good to being bad. Never once did John ever fathom a smile would be about survival though, that was entirely new to him, even at this age.  
John did his best to be polite and usher the guy out to the front of the shop. He sat the man down and asked if he might want something to drink.  
“Ahh-ye-yeah actually ah,” the guy gulped, like he was nervous of something, “I'd like some bottled water-but not the Dasani stuff that always gives me the trots!” he held up a finger as John went to get him just what he asked for.  
John brought it over and just as he was about to go into the back both of their attentions were grabbed by the T.V. set.  
“Are banks going to be punished for giving loans to Marijuana growers and shops who sell, or are “Friendly”; this is the question being asked right now-”  
“What a bunch of crap,” the guy said.  
“What-excuse me,” John turned to him.  
“Oh it's already legal-hell their pulling in more money then they ever have, they wouldn't shoot themselves in the foot,” he waved at the screen opening his water and taking a swing.  
“If the federal government doesn't quit leaning on the banks-at least lay off a little then I don't know what I'm gonna do,” one interviewee said.  
“I mean-their making it hard for the rest of us,” the next interviewed person waved their hand to encompass all around, “I'm an honest green house, and shop owner, and I was questioned just last week-had to fill out a form and everything. And one of my banks-lenders they cut me off. I don't have half the money I need now to keep my business open-I mean I'm gonna hafta shut down the green house.” She gave a surprised disbelieving chuckle waving over her property. “I don't know what I'm gonna do,” She shook her head.  
John turned back to the man, this was the story he'd been waiting to see all night. Deciding he raced for the remote glad that the strip mall had come with the option of cable. He grabbed the control finding it behind the counter right where his best but also most bossy cashier worked. He also grabbed a bag of chips for himself and switched the radio off. He needed to hear this.  
He sat himself down on one of the chairs then jumped up again to turn the lights off in front of his shop. That was when John found that he'd left the OPEN sign on; he hung his head for a minute trying to get his anger under control. No wonder someone had come along demanding service, John had been sure he'd had the sign turned off before everyone left early for the night. After a few seconds he flipped the switch making sure the OPEN sign was no longer on, the only light now, was coming from inside his shop. Just to be sure he pulled the venetian blinds, slating them so that his customer didn't feel too boxed in, the last thing he needed was for the guy to go off on him again. He didn't want any more distractions and just to be safe he locked the front door, again.  
The guy watched him closely, his eyes bugging when the door was bolted but thankfully he didn't say anything, John wondered why but didn't care right then, he had serious T.V. watching to do.  
John got himself a few more things, since he hadn't had dinner yet he grabbed one of his sandwiches and a nice cold bottle of pop from the customers cooler then sat back down.  
The guy was staring as John went through it all and hadn't touched his stuff.  
John sniffed, figured.  
He sat himself down and pressed the button to rewind, “whaddyeah do that for!”the guy squawked but John just ignored him his finger on the button.  
“Hey!”  
Finally it was back at the beginning of the show and John let it play.  
“Dear god,” the guy said, shifting around, it sounded like he was getting up.  
“Want me ta' let you out,” John offered eyes glued to the set.  
“No thank-you,” Guy said.  
John heard the top of the small container pop open and he rolled his eyes, hopefully it would get the man to actually relax for once.  
He sat and watched not noticing a thing from the peanut gallery, it took the whole news cast but finally at the end they showed the story they'd been promising to show all week.  
“The Marijuana debate and how Citizens Uptight are petitioning to have it put to another vote. ...”  
John watched and listened not once noticing the man behind him, or anything else for that matter he was so absorbed.  
When the story was over he sat back and watched for a bit not sure what to think, his mind went blank and he just stared. … It had been one interesting story and from the sound of it, by this channel anyway-John checked to see what channel it was, each one differed in their politics and therefore made the story seem as if it were something it wasn't, usually.  
John checked and then had to recalculate, wondering what the real story was. He shook his head finally shutting the whole thing off, he was going to have to look it all up, see for himself, there was just no way to tell. At least he had the topic headings now to know what he needed to look into.  
He turned ready to finish his meal but jumped not expecting to see the customer from earlier still there.  
He'd been so silent … and now John knew why.  
Tracks marred the poor guys face, his eyes all red rimmed, his nose wet.  
John blinked, what the hell. … this guy was mentally off. He stood up trying to figure out how to get this guy out of his shop. Despite himself a powerful wave of protection overcame him right then, John glanced at the look on the guys face. It was as if he'd just been gifted life for the first time ever, it kind of creeped John out and threw him off foot. John stood there for a minute both sides struggling within him. He glanced up at the clock, the news cast had lasted a good two hours, it was now well past midnight and going on one a.m.  
“Sorry sorry-it's it's just I-” the guy wiped his eyes suddenly animated, “I haven't-it's been so long since I haven't been in pain. I forgot what it was like. Do you know what it's like to be tortured, not able to breath it hurts so bad!?” His voice cracked and he pinched his nose wiping his hand on his pants after-wards. “Ahh, sorry, sorry.” shaking and in a jerky manner he stood grabbing up his stuff. The man quickly shoved his pockets to bulging with his cash and one credit card.  
John reached out steadying him-it didn't look like the guys legs would hold him up. The guy jerked away as if he expected to be hit-or hurt but John managed to grab him anyway. The man's whole body tensed in reaction as John gripped his arm, then just as suddenly he seemed to pause, full body, and slowly ever so slowly, he relaxed.  
After a second John let go, “what's wrong with you,” he looked the man up and down.  
The guy frowned at him, and crossed his arms dropping his phone. He picked it up and sized John up right back, “you don't seem dumb-are you?”  
“What,” John leaned back.  
“I'm TERMINAL,what is there not to understand about that!”  
Pity hit John hard, he must have gasped or something because the guy reacted.  
“Seriously what can you here back there-oh,” The guy snapped his fingers rapid fire near his head, pretty impressive for how much strong pot he'd just had, “yeah you had the radio on blasting and the T.V. How in the world did you even hear me-no wonder I was having to bang away for whole hours-” he shoved the chair under the table the two hitting each other and nearly tipping, “I could have died-DIED because you couldn't cater to one customer!”the guy waved his arms.  
John leaned back, “Hey,heyhey,” he put his hands up, “I'm sorry, I've got what this one shrink-head quack called it PTSD can't work with out noise-hell I can't sleep most-”  
“Wait what.”  
“PTS-I donno-never min-”  
“No, you were a soldier?”  
“Yeah.”  
“Holy crap.”  
“Yeah well,” John turned to leave, “have a nice day,” he gave a mock salute to the guy and went over unlocking the front door.  
“No I had no idea-I'm sorry what's-ah-what's your name.”  
“Don't matter,” John just nodded at him opened the door as wide as it would go and gave him the biggest shit eating grin he could.  
“No seriously cause maybe I can-”  
“We're closed,” he glared at the guy,smile firmly in place. That kind of look was guaranteed to creep him out.  
“Fine,” the guy scrambled his few items left out into his pockets and checking everything twice stomped out the door.  
He turned and John shut the door in his face, the blinds banging against the damn thing.  
It had been one horrible night and his original creation was gone, John looked around the shop. … Might as well just close up, calling it an early night and try again tomorrow.  
At this point there was really nothing else he could do.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	8. Oil - Chapter VIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rodney sleeps and John doesn't … the two parties meet again and some mistakes are made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Posted:** Saturday May 3, 2014 **Author:** GlassesG33k  
>  **Chapter Rating:** PG  
>  **Word Count:** 3,032  
>   
>  **Cross-posted**  
>  **Archive of Our Own –** http://archiveofourown.org/works/1347706/chapters/2811697,  
>  **Live Journal –** http://glassesg33k.livejournal.com/  
>  **Dreamwidth –** http://glassesg33k.dreamwidth.org/  
>  **Tumblr –** hobbyhermit.tumblr.com  
>  **Facebook –** https://www.facebook.com/hobby.hermit  
>   
>  **Special Thanks:** TT, or TactlessTruth for all of her help. :-)  
>  **A/N:** Well, I'm back just as I said I would be, I just want to say a big and hearty thank you to everyone for sitting through that impromptu hiatus and I hope to get this done soon. =-)
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Chapter – VIII**   
**Eight**

For the first time in his life Rodney slept soundly that night and didn't wake up once. He laid down for just a minute the soft soothing darkness taking him and rolled over to find that it was an hour before his alarm was set to go off.  
*blink blink*  
Rodney sat up, it was 9:30 a.m.  
He hadn't twitched and jerked awake in torturous pain.  
It was the first time in an eternity that he hadn't been ripped from sleep every fifteen minutes to an hour by his nerves either prickling him with sharp needles or the overall shudder. He called them “waves” and they would roll over his whole form in a frigid sear causing him to go rigid with what felt like a sharp and terrible knife like freezing or burning. It would start somewhere in his body usually his shoulder or leg and then spread, like liquid made of pins and needles, one after another each and every wave would come, sometimes one on top of another.  
Not knowing what else to do or think at the moment Rodney got up and went about getting ready for work.  
He was half way through when it hit him, he was whistling … in the shower no less. He blinked and chuckled ever so slightly, he hadn't been this relaxed and on the verge of happy since … heck since he was in his 20's and pre-cancerous, it was great! He washed his hair using a bit more pressure then usual then went through the trouble of actually getting down and taking care of several other items he usually ignored, one being the cracks and crevices between his toes. It was liberating to move again and the feeling of being competent was just … beyond words.  
It was a new life.  
By the time he was out of the shower he was more then squeaky clean for once and actually felt reborn, like an old building given a second chance.  
Rodney puttered around quickly getting his things together, he hadn't felt this well in a long time. While packing up he noticed that it was sunny, something else he hadn't noticed in a while and that there were leaves on the trees now, brushing against his bedroom window. Granted he lived in a two room one bathroom apartment, more of a shit hole then anything else but it had been a long while since he'd noticed the new beginnings of spring, much less the bright happiness of a bird chirping outside his window.  
“Wow,” Rodney put his hands on his hips and looked around. His place was a mess and really since he was probably fired or would be soon why not just take the day off.  
Rodney thought it over and decided he really shouldn't. Hurrying he shoved the rest of his items in his briefcase and then it hit him, he'd like to eat. … Actually he was really kinda hungry, maybe a muffin would be nice. The thought of going down to the corner Starbucks flitted through his mind and he instantly dismissed it. The last time he'd eaten there he'd gotten sick, granted it was possibly because it had also been the day, or week he couldn't recall now, of his first treatment but still, just the very thought of the local Starbucks upset his stomach. He righted himself and looked over his apartment again, maybe a day off was exactly what he needed.  
Rodney made a decision and set to work, flipping his phone open.  
~~~~~~~~~~

The next day arrived bright and early and John got up wincing from the pain of it all. His masterpiece from the night before had been ruined and now he was going to have to create a second batch from scratch along with trying to figure out what in the world he was going to do with the original one.  
The sky was gray and overcast (usual for predawn) and that terrible frigid loneliness howling down his neck shivering him to the bone was back. John shook, the banshee in the back of his soul howled making the still atmosphere seem open and as if he was in free-fall.  
*shiver!*  
Why would he be feeling like this, then it hit him;  
last night.  
Never before had John slipped like he had last night and made the mistake of telling a total stranger what his problem was.  
That was why his past was bothering him today.  
Initially after the diagnosis, when he'd been living in that little hole in the wall apartment his brother rented for him, he'd made the mistake of trying to tell a few people. His neighbors had knocked on his door several times wanting to know what the ruckus was, John had tried to tell them that he had night terrors and he was sorry. No one was impressed and mostly they just saw John as making excuses or lying. It was when they didn't understand that John tried to explain to them what the shrink had told him, but it had gone so terribly that he was taught to never mention it again and to just lie his ass off.  
John was quickly re-taught how lying actually made life far better, far far better.  
It still bugged him though and there was this nasty little part of him that demanded to be able to spill his guts and just wail out all of his problems to the very air itself, as if some great god was listening to him and would care enough to answer him.  
John knew better now but in the past he hadn't, having to learn the hard way, through experience. Every time he'd asked for something he'd gotten the exact opposite, like the incident that finally taught him to never pray again. He'd made a terrible mistake of befriending a dog for a while when he was homeless. It'd been sick and sliding fast, then it'd gone delirious or something and had been hit by a car. It'd been old, far to old, but for a few months it had been John's only friend. He'd told that dog a lot, shared his soul with the animal and the poor thing had stuck by him, even baring it's teeth and more or less barking off several people who were trying to do John harm.  
When John had finally made it over to the poor animal after it was hit … well … he'd poured out his soul knowing, just knowing God heard him.  
The damn dog died that minute, with it's head in John's lap.  
It was after this that he knew prayer might not be a good thing, and maybe he should stop.  
So it was with shock and a sudden overtaking need that he gasped out, “God save me,” when he'd seen him come into the shop.  
So far except for the caustic loneliness that was literally sapping his will to live and very strength John had had a pretty good day. One of his employees, the strawberry haired girl, had figured out that he should just take candy molds and turn his base from the night before into cheap “holiday” pops, or little trial samples. John had thought this was a great idea and went ahead with it even coming up with far better and more ideas, by the time he was creating his third base for the day he'd already figured out a whole new line of items to make with just the smooth chocolate cream alone. Never before had he thought of using it as is, presenting it as some kind of finger candy or even a “light”, weight conscious product. It was this and many more ideas that were buzzing through his mind when the damn guy from last night walked in.

John had never told some random stranger what his problem was the only people who knew about it were his brother and his wife, and she only knew bits and pieces so it was a bit more then rattling to see Mr. Uptight come walking into the store the next day. He was carrying a bouquet of flowers and had what might pass as a smirk on his face.  
John hadn't expected that one.  
He watched closely as the guy sauntered around, his eyes twitching side to side as if looking for someone. John slipped into the back hoping he could let one of his cashiers take care of it. He really couldn't deal with it right now.  
Mr. Uptight as John had decided to call him was the kind of guy who pointed fingers, took names and kicked ass never getting to the truth or caring what was really going on. He was the kind of person who rather then admit he'd done anything wrong would say that someone else was the cause of some kind of catastrophe that had just happened. He was the kind of guy who would rather point fingers of blame then stop and try to fix a situation as it was. John had run into far to may like Mr. Uptight in his life, hell it was those kinds of people who'd court martialed him, caused him to sit in prison for far too long while his sanity seeped away.  
John shook himself, he had a business to run and right now that meant getting as far away from Mr. Uptight, or should John call him Mr. Trouble as possible, right now.  
“Oh hey!” terribly the guy spotted him and waved his finger making a bee line to John, “I just wanted to say I'm sorry about the ruckus I made last night and I just wanted to apologize-here!” the guy beamed up at him from his slumped position.  
John looked down, “flowers?”  
“Well,” Mr. Uptight looked down at the bouquet in his hands, “ah-there really for the shop. I felt guilty and was worried I had left the place a mess,” he turned looking around, “which I can't really tell ...” he turned back to John.  
There was a far to awkward pause and Mr. Uptight rocked side to side on his feet, “here.” he shoved the flowers, a lush and wide mess of tropical wild flowers from the looks of it, into John's hands.  
At least he liked tigerlillys, John had never seen tigerlilly's come in such a wide variety of colors, nor so bright. He bent his nose to sniff not trusting them, they seemed painted; odd.  
John caught movement out of the top of his eye and righted himself to find that the guy had straightened up a bit and was smiling … almost beaming at him.  
Very odd.  
John bent his head unable to hold back the sheer humiliation, he could feel his face going hot and then the darn need to chuckle started to bubble up, he rubbed the back of his neck.  
“God this is so not...” he chuckled out loud despite himself and smiled at the guy hoping he'd get the gist of the whole situation.  
It looked gay, gay as all get out, it was embarrassing especially since he wasn't nor was he guy-unless …  
“Oh ah hey!” John waved his hands blind with being flustered, then noticed that the flowers got bent and bits and pieces were falling to the floor. John turned racing to put them in water and get the floor cleaned up. “it's no problem forget about it!” he shouted over his shoulder. He needed to clean up the mess fast before someone slipped and tried to sue.  
When he made it back the guy was thankfully gone and really it was good thing since there was more then enough work to be done, John's new treats were a bit hit.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
From the beautiful blush and the obvious happy chuckle to the clear embarrassment … Rodney had only gone over to try and apologize not to hit on the poor guy.  
He knew how horrible he could be to deal with, more then enough nurses had clued Rodney in to this fact.  
He hadn't known what to get a shop or business in order to apologize properly, he'd chosen on the easy to discard if unwanted flowers, they seemed the most safe route to go; that was until he'd had to hand them over to the shop owner, another man. … God maybe it was a good thing he'd gotten a call.  
His phone buzzed again and Rodney ignored it, it stood to reason the only day he'd taken off in his entire working life that had truly and entirely been for pleasure was interrupted. Granted he'd taken days off when he'd first been getting treatment, but as time grew on and he'd gotten used to the sharp stomach then full body aches and dry heaving onto his shoes, he'd learned to ignore it.  
Rodney's phone went off again but he was nearly at school so there was no need to answer it. Granted it was for a new piece of equipment and he'd asked to be contacted when it came in.  
The rest of the day was spent in semi-crancky bliss, helping haul equipment in and placing it, setting everything up so that his students and the staff could make sure it was all in place and get it working properly.  
He got a few looks and at one point the lowly furniture mover guy as Rodney deemed him in his mind, had glanced at him then over at his co-worker, seeming to say, “Whoah.” Rodney's arms had been in the air, trying to hold up some stuff, and he'd been shaking pretty badly.  
Thankfully no one had said anything and he'd gotten away with it all but still, the stares were starting to get to him. It was as if everyone suddenly decided to take notice of his gray and drawn appearance, a few students and even one staff member offering to take something for him. He refused every time not wanting them to think him ill but it wasn't working.  
By the time half the day was gone he was starting to really run out of any kind of life he'd had and everyone was talking behind his back. A few had mentioned how he'd possibly lost a bit of weight and how skinny he was, “unable to carry all that stuff”.  
Unless he could come up with some kind of an excuse quick there would be wild and entirely wrong (or more then likely right) rumors flying around … really he should just prepare himself for the end now.  
Rodney nodded to himself deciding, he'd figure out some way to write up a resigning letter and figure out how he could bow out with out being looked down upon.

It took all day to carry in and set everything up in the general area's it was going to go and Rodney had no idea what he was in for, if he had he would have delegated nearly all the work and just stayed home, despite the wonderful new science items.  
That night Rodney didn't sleep, he was dead tired his body weeping for the wonderful escape of sleep but it was not to be. A burning ache was beginning, it wasn't until after 4:44 a.m. that he finally managed to doze off.  
When the next morning rolled around the sun wasn't shining and the birds were not chirping, or at least in Rodney's world they weren't. Rodney opened his eyes at 10 a.m. his alarm ripping him from blissful escape his room was black as night and the sky outside was gray, or that's what he figured. In truth he didn't really know, he was blind with pain.  
His whole being was stiff to the point of being immobile and when he finally got himself to sit up he realized that there was light coming in his window, it looked pale and gray. Pain had once again sapped any and all of his joy. It took all Rodney had to slither himself out of bed and then on hands and knees crawl to his bathroom. He lay there for a good hour or so curled up in a fetal position gasping he was so tortured, tears were streaming down his face choking him when he tried to move.  
Once he was able to bear it he got himself onto his knees then stood, he grabbed the Aspirin-cream and stripped his clothes from the day before off (he'd never even had a chance to get undressed, not like it mattered anymore or ever really had ) and managed to get himself into the tub.  
He turned the water on hot as he could stand and sat there waiting till his muscles weren't as tight as bow strings anymore. It took a good several minutes but he was soon able to draw the shower curtain closed and after the hot water ran out he crawled out and slathered himself down.  
It as after this that he finally crawled back to bed and decided that he was not going to even attempt calling in for the day.  
If anyone called him or tried to get angry about him not calling in sick then he didn't care.  
Closing his eyes he gave in to the allergy he had to aspirin, another gift from god, or really his damn genes. The atmosphere went silent his ears sliding into that pressurized needing to pop feeling. Sound became fuzzed, like an old analogue T.V. set, one could say the sound was like holding a sea shell up to your ear, muffled and as if the air currents were rushing by making a growling hissing roar.  
Rodney's ears began to ring blocking out the call from his one acquaintance at work, Zelinka.  
It didn't matter though, Rodney was dead to the world, his allergies and pain taking him down into darkness.  
~~~~~~~~~~~


	9. Oil - Chapter IX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mental Musings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Posted:** Sun. May 18th, 2014 **Author:** GlassesG33k  
>  **Chapter Rating:** PG-13  
>  **Word Count:** 7,050  
>   
>  **Cross-posted**  
>  **Archive of Our Own –** http://archiveofourown.org/works/1347706/chapters/2811697,  
>  **Live Journal –** http://glassesg33k.livejournal.com/  
>  **Dreamwidth –** http://glassesg33k.dreamwidth.org/  
>  **Tumblr –** hobbyhermit.tumblr.com  
>  **Facebook –** https://www.facebook.com/hobby.hermit  
>   
>  **Special Thanks:** TT, or TactlessTruth for all of her help. :-)  
>  **A/N:** Warning you may get hungry reading this!  
>  By the way (BTW) I've made all the food stuff here, just as stated and it really tastes GOOD, I suggest trying it. Ask me for my recipes if you want ;D! 
> 
> Omg! Some of my chapters now have titles in them! Wow! ;D!
> 
> Despite everything attempting to stop me posting this it's getting posted anyway, HA! =-D! *Is PROUD!* =-D
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Chapter 9**

**Degrees of Discrimination**

**IX Nine IX**

 

“Alright alright alright,” Ford hung up he was over scheduled already. The day had not started well, he'd gotten up late and by the time he'd gotten to work for his first order it was already 5:30 a.m.  
Kinsey the main co-worker Ford dealt with and the person who doled out his orders for him to deliver had screwed up, or that's what he'd thought. Entering the Farmacy there had been three orders on the counter, usually he'd have five to deliver for the whole day. He had one client for his morning run before his classes started, or that was before the whole local news thing had aired.  
When Ford had come into the shop he found that it was well liked, the whole place being packed, customers getting their daily rations before work. He hadn't been in early since his last run which was a good week ago so he was surprised to find that it was so full this early in the day. At the moment though he was in too much of a hurry to care, he needed to get his one pre-dawn order before heading out. When he'd found the three deliveries waiting for him he'd gone in search of Kinsey; that was when he learned that the shop, being under such strain, had hired quite a number of new people, one of them being his new “dole-girl” as the title was named. She was the one in charge of doling out his “run” or “outside” orders he had to deliver. Ford had argued with her and found out that ever since the whole Late Night News with the local anchor had aired all Friendly shops had become so over run that they were having to send clients to competitors.  
The new girl had also warned him that he was well known now and had supposedly become somewhat of a “celebrity”.  
Either way, instead of having the one, hour long drive to the old man's house he was now stocked with two other orders that would take a good thirty to forty-five minutes a piece just to get it out to the waiting customers.  
By the time Ford got back to the shop to check in before he headed out to his classes he was shoved one last order and it was also a half hour long drive. He nearly shrugged off his classes for the day but managed to get in to the beginning of his second class at the last minute.  
By four o'clock when he was finally heading back to the Farmacy after a long day in school he was wiped out and just wanted to crash for the evening.  
The day had not gone well and being recognized by a few of his clients and a couple of kids at school didn't help his mood any. It was nice but weird to have total strangers point and call out to you, a few even ran up smelling of pot, wanting an autograph. Far worse was the numerous people who walked up talking and using his name as if they knew him well and were old friends.  
*shudder!*  
That one really creeped him out.  
Then there were the ones who thought that merely through talking to him they could get some kid of a “good deal” on god knows what. He tried to dissuade them, let them know that he was no one special and he couldn't help them, or didn't know them at all; it didn't seem to make a difference though, they all wanted something from him.  
He'd also gotten plenty of new hate and slurs thrown at him, now with the added benefit of “pot head” or “druggie” thrown in.  
The only upswing that day had been his new GoogleGlass equipment. He had signed up hopeful and had thankfully been chosen to be a first line BETA tester. Ford liked new technology and was always trying to get his hands on the most cutting edge items being released to the public. Before he decided to go into law he had been studying to go into the field of computer programming and animatronics/robotics. He'd only managed to get a double bachelors in that though. It was because of this and his love for technology that his older clients had nick named him “gadget guy”. To Ford though all the new technology and knowledge was just normal everyday life. Yes it made certain things far easier but overall it was just the way the world worked.  
It was kinda fun to try out the new “toys” and see if they were worthwhile; work out the kinks before anyone else dealt with them. This helped when his friends would complain about some item not working or were having a hard time assimilating the new technology. Ford could let them know how to deal with certain issues and what the new stuff was capable and not capable of. He could let them know how things were set up and functioned with the new equipment since he'd already had to deal with it or fix or figure out whatever problem it was.  
When it came to the older generations, usually the clients that he served, they would be lonely and would always be wanting to talk, and since Ford was a bit shy it was a good place to start a conversation, everyone wanting to know about the stuff he had on him. The older people were always curious about what new phone he had or what “new finagled kind of techno-thingy” he was sporting. He'd usually come in and hang out for a few minutes giving them updates on his life or on what he was messing with or had discovered. He'd even had fairly long talks introducing his clients to all the “neat new things” and how to use the equipment.  
When signing up to test GoogleGlass he let the company know this and told them that many of his customers, after talking to him, would eventually end up buying many of the new items he had shown off. He'd even introduced old Mr. Phil, his ancient 6 a.m. client he delivered to before the work day started, to many new things. It was a shock when one morning the old guy had excitedly ushered Ford into his house and shown him his new Apple I-Pad. They'd talked for a good hour then and Ford had shown him all kinds of things the item could do, mostly all basic stuff. He'd helped the poor old guy out on necessary items even telling him about how to connect to something “new and extraordinary called the internet”, Ford had to really work to suppress his chuckling smile on that one. He was taken aback when the old guy told him that he was having a business come over later on that week to install “a new in-teerr-net or ... whatever,” the old guy had waved his hand sighing tiredly as if it were some great burden learning this new stuff. Ford had to hold back the all out laugh at that point and offered to, after classes, come back around for a few days and help the old guy out. Phil was more then grateful and granted it wasn't that much fun but the old guy was so much like a grandfather Ford was glad to spend a bit of extra time with him.

After class Ford had raced home, he'd gotten a text telling him the new equipment had arrived and that Google had someone waiting for him. He let the Google-Guy know that he had to get to work and was in a hurry. Despite this he ended up having to spend the better part of an hour and a half finding out all the new stuff, how it all worked and how to do basically everything. By the time he got to work he was yelled at by the new girl who'd just started then the lower manager reamed him out. On top of this he had ten orders, ten; each and every one taking 25 to 30 minutes just to get the item out to the customer which meant that every order would take a good 45 minutes to an hour or close to it, without traffic. Ford shook his head and after the gryping he got he took his first order and went straight over to John's place.

~~~~~~~~~~~  
John plopped down gasping and wincing from the terrible pain. His hips and legs were bugging him again, his lower back screaming out in agony. He'd had a long hard three days and things weren't getting any easier.  
After far to long the pain subsided enough for him to have his brains back. He looked over the mess of paperwork and other items on his desk and started to seriously calculate upping his prices just to get some of the customers to go away.  
John's place had been so damn over run no one had, had enough time for so much as a bathroom break. First thing yesterday the doors were being pounded on a good two hours before the shop was scheduled to open. Once again John had freaked going for his gun, this time positive that a mob was after his shop, that public opinion had suddenly turned and his place was one of the first few to be torn down.  
It was only now, thinking back on it that he suddenly realized, he kept waiting for everything to turn and become like Afghanistan.  
…  
John leaned back putting his arms behind his head, he looked up at the ceiling, why would he be thinking like that!?  
…  
It was because the atmosphere was feeling like that.  
Tense to the point of popping.  
Everyone was against each other pointing fingers of blame at the very people next to them, refusing to let by goens be by gones, forgive or just plain walk away. Everyone was taking issue with the smallest most mundane things, refusing to admit that everything was either created by or run by humans and people as a whole and individually make mistakes, screw up; sometimes in small ways and areas, sometimes in huge ways and areas.  
And the whole justice system was beyond gone, run by criminals for criminals, innocent victims and bystanders were being arrested, blamed for the very crimes committed against them. Their side of the story was not being told and if they were allowed a voice at all their side was spoken against and made out to be a lie or at best questionable. Even people who stopped to try and help those who were being hurt, burglarized and the like were arrested or turned into a “criminal” in the police departments eyes. Someone who stopped by to help would be taken in simply for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, blamed for something they had noting to do with. Their acts of good punished and their lives, names, reputations ruined simply because they saw a victim and could not stand by and let them be hurt, robbed or what have you.  
It was these two things right there that made the very air vibrate with nearly igniting rage, just like over in the Arab countries.  
It was terrible truly terrible …  
John shifted testing his hip and legs, not yet; couldn't move just yet.  
And with the legal arrest system now being a business, where cops had to arrest more on this day then they did on the exact same day the year before, and more then they did the year before that; a whole system made to up the number of arrests while causing the true-real criminals to go free. The situation was so skewed that when say, a real criminal turned themselves in, which is the point it had gotten too, the cereal murderer or what have you was not touted as “we got our man!” but hidden away; slipped quietly into the prison system, under far lesser charges. Instead of being put away for life he's in for say, bad parking tickets, or some other rot. And instead of having no parole he's let out after a good say five to seven years. While someone else who merely tried to stop and help a poor old African American lady who'd been mugged was put away in jail for life, without parole; simply because he was being a good Samaritan.  
John shook his head, it was terrifying, truly horrendous and unbearable!  
“Ahhhooff!” John wiped his face tilting his chair back to stare at the ceiling.  
… Poverty was increasing, hopelessness was increasing, and everyone had such differing beliefs, attitudes, ideas.  
And in this vacuum, this division being created was a hole that allowed extremists to pop up and flourish like weeds, and not just any old weeds. It was just like over in the dessert countries, where everyone was nuts … maybe it was the heat, maybe the heat made everyone go absolutely insane.  
John looked over at his on the wall electronic thermometer that gave the inside and outside, temperatures, humidity and air pressures. The weather had been doing oddball things and that was another argument, it was clearly getting hotter but anything that could be done would merely slow down the heating process now, not stop it. John stared, dead tired having not slept for a good three days really. He'd gotten cat naps and snippets of snoozes here and there but he'd been having to work straight day and night since that damn T.V. show had aired.  
God damn those darn reporters and the local news station! He plopped his chair down and sighed. It was barely 3:00 p.m. and he really needed to eat something, yeah it'd been bad to slink off home after being overrun, letting his employees deal with it all but it soon became too much.  
John got up gasping and wincing, he limped over to his fridge seeing what he could do in the line of food for himself; not much, he looked at one pitiful bit of Ramen …  
It was a still sealed uncooked plastic rectangle of “Chicken Flavor Yakisoba with Japanese Noodles”, why he had it in his fridge he didn't really care at the moment he was just glad it was there. He managed to find some chicken bullion and fairly good celery and green onions. He set to work scrubbing and chopping everything up. He put the veggies, bullion and all in the microwaveable container and filled it to the line with water from a water-bottle, then stuck it all in to nuke. While waiting he looked around and managed to find some possibly not too old Spring Rolls in the freezer that he'd gotten a while ago, finger food for one of his last meetings here. One of the perks to having your office in your home was that if anyone needed anything they could just get it easy and the leftovers were his to eat. John warmed up three spring rolls in his toaster oven and held the dipping sauce packet between his hands, trying to thaw it while he waited for his stuff to finish.  
John leaned against the counter his mind instantly going back to what he'd been concentrating on.  
One of the problems was that the side that had the most power was fighting the hardest and the loudest, saying they were morally upright and were of God and religious and, or family values. Just like the extremists over in the other countries where women couldn't drive and had to wear burkas. Their countries had become so morally upright that it wasn't even safe for women to walk the streets alone any longer, much less go anywhere without the aid of a man.  
These groups in the U.S. were much like the ones over there, promising through many and various means, even the magical act of, “being right with God” that the whole of the nation would be well again, but what did they mean by well?  
They always left it hanging and never answered it, they just kept harping on the same stuff and never once said anything like everyone having the money and the means to support themselves-their families. They just kept saying that the whole nation needed to “turn back to God again” and magically if everyone did this these politicians, public speakers, groups, etc. said, “everything would be good again, like it was …” but, like it was when?  
John had always wondered about that, what all these people; senators, representatives, preachers and the like meant by that, it had never made sense.  
Did they truly mean when slavery was alive and well, when the KKK and prohibition was all the rage, like John had been told once. Or was it something else, harking back to a time that had never existed, it was far to easy to take things from the past or even future and create them to be what you want. If no one or very few are alive from back in the day then it's easy to make the past into something it wasn't, paint it as an entirely different thing or animal. It was one of the reasons John had never liked history, as one of his friends had put it, it was written by the victors and therefore innately skewed, told from the perspective of “his” “story.” The current historians only had the old records to go upon, they couldn't decipher what really happened or what it was truly like because they hadn't been there, hadn't been alive during those times.

John figured to say that things were good back in the day was to look at the past with a tainted eye and not admit to all the greatly controlling, large to minute problems that had existed back then. Even looking to the future is a form of escapism and yes it's nice to imagine but really it does no good, unless Oprah was right and imagining your future really did cause it to become reality.  
…  
John really doubted that though.  
John decided to go over and dig for some kind of a snack, his food was still burning hot, one of the problems with these dishes he'd found. Since he didn't want another burn blister on his tongue or in his mouth he went ahead and started searching for some kind of … just something.  
The whole point had become to en-mass as much money as possible and the hell with everyone else, either let the other guy suffer, hurt them or even prevent the opposition from also succeeding. And that was the other problem right there, everyone was pitted against each other, no one was helping each other out. No one was coming together even in small groups to protect and defend each other, the only ones coming even close to that were the terrifying groups, neo-natzis, KKK, and others.  
John found some marshmallows and butter, his cereal cabinet had Rice Krispies … Nutella.  
Maybe that was why these groups were gaining so much ground now, it was he only place, like street gangs where you could actually manage some kind of protection, a slight hint of clearly false safety, even if it was tentative.  
…  
Of course the once well organized groups seem far more, well, “safe” then something as wild and nutty as a street gang; but John had never been a part of either so really he had no idea, and he didn't want to have any idea either.  
John managed to hop over to his stove and took out a large pot and a nice large pan. He greased the pan then took the rest of the butter and put it in the pot turning the stove on low. He took out a spoon watching, hypnotized as the butter melted …  
There was no upward mobility anymore, anywhere; heck John had to add on the Cannabis and open a Friendly shop just in order to hawk his goods, there was no way anyone would have come by-heck he'd been told not to waste his money on a sub-shop or even a soup and sub shop. You could no longer work for a business anymore and expect loyalty, in any way shape of form. You couldn't work for a company your whole life any longer, it was not only unheard of it was seen as downright wrong, almost illegal. Yet the whole of the U.S. was set up so that you were forced to open your own business instead of work for someone else. And for little shops like John's if you tried starting a small business more likely then not you were going to fail, your very investments, retirement even house and car being ripped away in order to pay for your companies debts, and there were no laws against this, protecting one or even more time business owners from such things. If the business did survive it couldn't grow, even now John was fighting, cutting prices close to the line just to get products off the shelf and sold in time. He was doing his best just to make ends meet and not close shop.  
John rubbed his face, “Blah!” and shook himself trying to wake up, the butter was nearly burning and he grabbed the mini-marshmallows, quickly dumping in the whole bag, no measuring, into the pot. He stared nearly drifting off again, he really needed to change the way things were run around here. John stirred going through the steps of making Rice Krispies treats, it was methodical and helped in some way John couldn't put his finger on, like walking. Just moving and doing something that took little to no thought helped, as if his body needed to work out the problems for him, it also helped keep himself awake. After a bit John was able to pour and spread the gooey substance, he licked and ate up the scraps enjoying every bit of it.  
When he was done he cleaned everything up even going so far as washing and drying it all, there was no real reason to put anything in the dishwasher. John looked down at the thing, so far he'd barely used it, the appliance only being run when he had guests over the night or day before. He barely ever got the ability to be in his own house he was so busy with his job-his shop.  
Thinking about that brought him back to what he'd been contemplating earlier.  
Those in power now no matter what party they represented were willing to pass any laws and do whatever it took to get a larger pay check and en-mass as much money as they could, causing poverty to increase. And because of their evil, their conscious being riddled with guilt they were seeing everyone and thing as enemies, seeing any kind of dissent as a threat to their word, authority, power or their money, etc. And their way of thinking, like mold on food or a blood disease was spreading and quickly, eating up the rest of the nation; it was terrible.  
John sat down to his now late lunch it being four o'clock.  
“Ahh,” he inhaled the fumes; fast, easy and so cheap it's crappy food, where would he be without it. John smiled to himself and pulled the top off his noodles the darn things still steaming hot, he folded them over, stirring to make sure everything was incorporated well. John dug into his spring rolls first and was glad that they weren't as terribly hot. As he ate he kept thinking and realized that really the current problem was that the side that had all the say wasn't letting the other side be heard much less have their ideas be done. They weren't even allowing pockets of dissenting opinions and life styles to exist. They were out to, “tear down the opposition” as they themselves had said. They were radical, refusing to give or compromise at all; even giving up any pretense of playing fair with any kind of opposition. (Heck they'd just taken out one of their own with a bridge debacle since he wasn't a radical like them and had a chance of being voted into office by the very opposite party.) In the 80's and even 90's lip service, which was just as bad, would have been applied liberally like a slave to help an especially nasty jagged pill go down smoothly, and compromise was big but now, now everyone and thing was in absolutes, there was no compromise especially with the side that thought God was on their side.  
It was just like Afghanistan, the parties in power were spouting religious or moral absolutes, saying they were in the right, and the peoples rights were being ripped away. Everywhere John looked he saw people being oppressed and on the verge of doing something, anything, to relieve their pain, their daily-weekly-monthly torture.  
The worst part was that the religious, the “morally upright”, the ones who were shouting the loudest and making the most fuss were also the ones inciting and igniting upset and chaos; they were poking, tilting, pushing everyone and thing to the edge of rioting, it was terrible.  
John pulled at his chin itching the stubble there, he would have to shave when he was done with dinner, or lunch whatever he as having now. It didn't take too long and John was done, he took care of the recyclables and trash then sat down to have one last treat, a Rice Krispies Treat, yumm! He took the Nutella and cut the gooey stuff into skinny perfect finger food type bars. He popped the jar open and dipped the sugary bar into the Nutella, savoring the pick me up.  
“Mmmmuugh!” God it was good!  
When he was done he got up going to shave. Thankfully his office was also his house so scrubbing up was no big deal. It felt great to be able to have meetings right in his living room, the atmosphere calming him down and letting him know if any clients were a good match. So far it had helped him get some pretty close friends, most would come over to do work and would end up staying for a long time enjoying his company.  
Granted it was a cheap shot, doing what he could through business to get friends and companions, or at least people to hold a few light conversations with.  
When John got in the bathroom he decided what the hell and took a shower shaving himself to squeaky clean, “Ahh!” it felt great!  
When he got out he dried off and collected his old clothes then got sucked into straightening out his place.  
John pulled at his chin then winced at the sting, he went and slathered chap stick on … God what a relief! Afterwards he looked down and almost tried to do his whole body but then thought better of it. He went in search of his lotion, scrounging around but wasn't able to fin any, he wondered if he ever had any to begin with. John righted himself his back giving out a sharp pain, “Gaw!” He winced and started shuffling back over to his kitchen chairs when his back door, or was it technically his front door he could never really figure that out, was knocked on.  
John made his way over and was surprised to see Ford there, it was a bit early but it was also odd for John to not be in the shop at this time of day. John opened the door after stepping back from the pep hole, Ford had probably been out front asking for him.  
“Hey.” John smiled at the kid-guy, he had to remind himself that Ford was a young man and not a little brother or kid sibling. The youth had always struck John as his responsibility and therefore his closest friend. He was one of the first few people John had taken into his heart, as much as he denied it. … John had learned the value of keeping everyone at arms length and not letting anyone in or close. If people got close they died, or hurt you in one way or another, either way it was best to stay away even if you were in close physical proximity.  
John looked Ford over, “What's that on your-”  
“Oh! It's GoogleGlass! Here!” the kid-man, young man, John remained himself again, popped the glasses off his face and started to shove them onto his head.  
“Here-wait!” John took them and put them on.  
“Okay see the...” Ford went through everything showing off his neat new toy. John was thrown off but it kinda impressed him. At the moment it seemed more gimmicky then anything else but he could definitely see how wiring up his shop and passing these out to all his employees could really make things faster and easier for everyone. Heck, they wouldn't even have to text each other they could just send a video or audio feed and ask directly, even if they were on the other side of the state.  
“Wow.”  
“Yeah! Isn't it great man! Here-gimmeit.” Ford wiggled his fingers getting John to disengage.  
John chuckled and handed it back.  
“So is this what you been doing lately?”  
“Yeah-well, this just came today,” Ford deflated and he looked down.  
“What's wrong ?”  
“Dude...” Ford bit his lips together and looked up, he wasn't sure how to ask this one … wow must be pretty heavy.  
“Here sit.” John pulled out a chair but Ford hesitated, “have you been getting more customers then usual lately?” Ford lifted his head and the glasses in his hand as if reaching out to John.  
“Here, sit down,” John patted the table top, “sit down.” he winced at his own voice, he sounded like his mother, God. He couldn't help it, Ford, despite his age; he just brought out something in John, he couldn't help himself. No matter when or where if Ford needed him or wanted help John would drop what he was doing and try to fix whatever problem the poor kid had. He got very protective and parental around the young man and … well, it was just darn weird, John leaned back frowning at himself, at a loss. He'd never felt like a parent before and had never wanted kids, he didn't have the patience for them and was too darn selfish to spend all his now extremely precious energy, time and strength on caring for a kid; but Ford, Ford … it was odd, his very mind and, it was like body-his biology made an exception for him. He didn't know why, there as just no reason for it; unless he was longing for that which he had never had, what his brother did have; a happy family. John had the joy of witnessing his brother's home, his three kids and wife interacting-loving eachother and each others company; how they hadn't fought and hated-despising each other like John and his siblings had when they were growing up.  
…  
No.  
No it seemed that John's brother had a very healthy, happy family life and John had terribly been on the outside of it. The whole time John had been living with his brother, which was only a few months, he'd not been allowed to be a part of his brother's family, to truly get close, interact; to be a part of it. It'd been terrible, like being on the outside of a glass wall, his face pressed tightly against the impenetrable division as if he could, through osmosis or some chemical or other means, inhale; imbue the acceptance and caring he saw there and was not allowed to be a apart of; to have.  
It was like John was trying to draw in, through the very invisible wall the love he needed so badly and just wasn't allowed to imbue.  
…  
John shook himself, trying to come back to the here and now; at least he had figured out the reason that he was doting on his friend so much, he was trying to create a family in whatever means and ways possible. John shook his head again coming back to the conversation at hand.  
“Sorry what?”  
Ford looked at him, “I donno what to do.”  
“You said ten orders?”  
“Yeah, on top of the five I had this morning.”  
“Crap.” John pulled at his chin. It was against Federal law to have more then one ounce of marijuana in your possession so the carriers or “delivery boys” could only process one order at a time, if they were pulled over carrying even a millionth of an ounce more then they'd be in federal prison for life, no parole. John wagged his head, the laws were just plain ridiculous, they needed to be overturned, wiped away, it was impeding business. Heck it was the main reason he'd decided to not allow deliveries, carry out or even a dive through window, which would have been an option if he'd chosen the store on the end of the strip mall. The whole thing was literally prohibition all over again and it was just plain wrong, ruining lives for no reason, creating gangs and danger-deaths everywhere. Heck prohibition was the reason gangs had taken a hold so well and thoroughly in America at the turn of the century and it was the same now, with the pot and drug wars. It was literally creating and fueling the problem, the cops, judges and whole system created the problem and then cleaned it up, they got you coming and going it was terrible.  
If things were going to really get cleaned up then instead of making drugs illegal it should be legalized and strongly taxed and regulated, with in and inch of it's life. John knew that if you truly wanted to kill something then just tax the hell out of it, the taxes made the item unsavory for businesses and the customers, causing everyone to go elsewhere, or just do without. And in the mean time the local and surrounding economies got rich off the tax money, overall it was a win situation, there was so lose. Money would be coming in, people wouldn't be overdosing from “hot hits”, or items that killed being mixed into something that should be safe and mundane. Gangs would be instantly eliminated, no more killings over something as small and worthless as a “dime of …” well anything.  
And best of all anyone who had a problem with drugs, addiction, all the money could go to much needed rehab centers and shrinks, along with helping people reconstruct their lives and get on their feet. A boom of jobs would be created and the states would have a surplus of money, which could go to the poor and jobless, even homeless.  
More then likely though all the money and tax revenue would only end up lining those in power's pockets, representatives, senators, governors and everyone else with a big title or on the take in the state capitols. … Really there could be a lot said for keeping money out of their hands and pockets. Heck they were already being paid far to much, voting in easily and smoothly their own pay hikes, raises and vacations; while they cut everyone else's pay and eliminated vacation time. The state lottery that had just recently been instituted not five years ago now, instead of it going to the schools like it was supposed to, or even the winners, it was going to legislators pockets, not even one child had been helped by that money.  
John shook his head.  
“Hey man.” Fords voice broke in.  
“Huh?” John looked over at his young friend.  
“What's wrong?”  
“What?”  
“You've been really distant tonight, what's wrong?”  
“Oh!” John stretched popping his shoulders and shifted, “ohhh...” he scratched, “I guess … I'm just too darn tired. Sorry man.” he rubbed his face.  
“No what's goin' on.”  
John looked up, Ford's face was full of concern. A chuckle popped out, John couldn't help it, he was shocked to find his own concern, his own words thrown back at him, Ford was mirroring him exactly, it was so darn odd! He smiled large and wide despite himself, “it's okay, it's okay. I'm just tired and my minds running,” he motioned with his hand, “you know how it is when you get tired, trying to solve all the worlds problems in one night.” He looked at Ford, smirking wide.  
“Ahh...” Ford nodded, frowning and clearly lost.  
“My own shop has been over run, everyone's coming in at once. Hell!” John sat up, “I was just thinking how I could up the prices just enough to convince a few customers to go elsewhere,” he smirked.  
“Yeah I had no idea-you know it was cause of that damn New Local News thing?”  
“Yeah that's what I heard-” John said.  
“Everyone was calling my name when I got to school,” Ford said.  
“Really?”  
“Yeah! Hell one of my teachers even called me out, said that 'Mr. Celebrity was here-too important to get to class on time.' ”  
“Shit-head,” John said.  
“I'll say,” Ford said.  
They got into it then, having a very in depth chat with time slipping away. it was something John didn't even realize he'd been needing, for a long time now he'd been needing a good chat, like stretching his legs with a long walk after being cramped up for a full week, it'd been too long, far to long.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ford got to the shop and swung by John's place to see if there was anything he could do for him. He usually stopped by to try and lend a hand but today things had been so bad and rushed that instead of helping he ended up getting help. He was glad for it and talked for a bit with John Sheppard the shop owner, letting the guy know about his troubles and getting some good advice, it really soothed his nerves and upped his spirits a lot.  
“I donno I had no idea.” Adrian Ford ran his fingers over his hair, he sat hugging the back of a turned around chair tilting it as John sat opposite him and leaned back in his own hard wooden seat.  
“Yeah I'm kinda surprised, here I thought yesterday was a fluke-my new creation actually was that good. I had no idea.”  
“Yeah well, I just found out about it today.”  
“From who,” John said.  
“Amy,” Ford said.  
“Who's-”  
“She's helping out Kinsey, just got hired, they measure out the items and set stuff up to be sent out,”Ford said.  
“Oh. Huh. How many orders-”  
“Ten man!”  
“Ten!?”  
“Yeah! I had four this morning and then I came in tonight and they had ten waiting for me and-”his pocket buzzed. Ford picked it up looking at the text and typing. “I got five more-what the crap.”  
“Dude.”  
“Yeah I'll say.” Ford finished his response and huffed shoving the phone back into his pocket. “I told them I'm in college-I took the job cause it would allow me to study.”  
“Yeah I know...” John pinched his lips together biting and twisting them. “Have you asked them to hire on more-”  
“No an' I don' dare-”  
“Why not.” John nonchalantly shrugged, he leaned back playing it cool.  
“Cause...” Ford gave him a look.  
“How about I try talking to 'em,” John shrugged again as if it were the easiest thing in the world.  
“Please?”  
“Yeah sure.”  
“I was actually wondering if I could come work for you-I need ta' sleep.” Ford stood up and turned the chair around sliding it so that it was put away.  
“Actually!” John stood himself stretching, “I'd like that.” John walked around his kitchen table and patted Ford on the shoulder, “If it gets to be too much you can come work for me okay?” He squeezed and smiled big and genuine at Ford.  
Ford smiled back, “alright man, thanks.” He nodded and grabbed John the both giving each other big manly back pats.  
“I gotta go man.”  
“Alright. Drive-”  
“You really gonna open another store?”  
John paused and leaned back, “I donno.”  
Ford waited a beat.  
“I donno... I'll think about it.” John stepped back patting Ford's back.  
“Well, we could really use it around here.”  
“Well,” John chuckled, “if you come to work for me then you'd be my tech guy, not a runner.”  
“That's great!” Ford beamed at him, he loved technology, “well, I gotta go.” It was already a good hour and a half gone and if he didn't hurry he wouldn't get the one order out that he had with him. Ford knew when he got into work that evening that there was no way all the orders were going to be delivered tonight. There was a nine o'clock cut off point when the store wouldn't deliver to customers homes after that hour and with how many deliveries he'd been handed Ford would have had to work all night just to get them filled.  
There was just no way at all.  
“Alright. Drive safe Adrian.”  
“I will. Thanks John.”  
“You're welcome.” John smiled at him, Ford could feel John watch him as he left.


	10. Oil - Chapter X

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rodney wakes up, or does he.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Posted:** Sat. May 24, 2014 Author: GlassesG33k  
>  **Chapter Rating:** PG-13 (Swearing … I think. Can't recall anymore, sorry.)  
>  **Word Count:** 4,607  
>   
>  **Cross-posted**  
>  **Archive of Our Own –** http://archiveofourown.org/works/1347706/chapters/2811697,  
>  **Live Journal –** http://glassesg33k.livejournal.com/  
>  **Dreamwidth –** http://glassesg33k.dreamwidth.org/  
>  **Tumblr –** hobbyhermit.tumblr.com  
>  **Facebook –** https://www.facebook.com/hobby.hermit  
>   
>  **Special Thanks:** TT, or TactlessTruth for all of her help. :-)  
>  **A/N:** I just want to say there is such a thing as being allergic to Aspirin and Tylenol. I am and my Dad is. Sadly, I'm also highly allergic to Cannabis /Marijuana, Pot, you know.  
>  Yeah. Genes are great.  
>  So really this has some facts in it, interesting huh. :-)  
>  By the way, there are two websites that I gleamed parts of this chapter from, if you read them you'll see how I incorporated them into this bit of the story.  
>  One is something vitally important and I WISH people had had the curtsey to well, not say the stuff to me that they have. *Steams!* =-(!  
>  Don't Say This to a Cancer Patient  
>  http://www.huffingtonpost.com/dan-duffy/what-not-to-say-to-a-canc_b_3578732.html
> 
> “Info.” I based this chapter on  
>  http://www.sciencebasedmedicine.org/chemotherapy-versus-death-from-cancer/
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
> 
> **A/N:** Also, because of the ONE bit of complaint/HELP I got, I TRIED to post this in Double Space. This site won't let me do such, so if anyone knows how to post double space on here then let me know. Otherwise that's not going to happen and I'll see if I can do such on any of the other websites I'm posting too. **_I CAN Edit it for the Live Journal Postings! =-D! *CLAPS!* So! If you NEED it double spaced then go to my Live Journal Posting I'll edit and re-upload the postings there! =-D! They'll be double spaced, if you want it on a white background or something else is needed then LET ME KNOW! THANKS! =-D!_**
> 
> **A/N:** This is now also being posted on Tumblr with the help of a friend, HobbyHermit. =-). hobbyhermit.tumblr.com

**X Ten X**

 Rodney sat, staring at the little piece of paper in his hand. …  
“Now you're sure about this.” A Scottish accent cut through his mind.  
For the past three days each and every single muscle in his body, even ones he didn't know existed had been rigid and hard as bone with terrible sharp aching. Yes he knew better then to try and actually haul such big, heavy and cumbersome pieces of equipment around, but he never expected to be struck down with immobility. Today had been the first day he'd been able to move at all so he'd taken the opportunity to actually get out of bed and try to get some relief. When he'd gone in to see Carson the one man he could talk to about anything the damn quack had merely suggested pain pills, which would loop him beyond all get out. The son-of-a-bitch knew he was allergic to all pain medications since everything out there had a base of either Aspirin or Tylenol. The only options were items that were literally just an excuse to be high. What Rodney wanted was a solution, hell at this point he'd take acupuncture if it would make the pain ease off just a little.  
Rodney blinked, his sight going wavy; he rubbed his itchy stinging eyes. To say the day had not gone well was an understatement. Instead of being able to get an appointment immediately he'd been forced to take any cancellations that might open up. So instead of going straight to the quack's office he'd decided to go ahead and try doing something useful with his day, which meant going to work.  
The second he'd gotten in he'd been called to his bosses office and more or less fired. Apparently it was irresponsible of him to order a large amount of expensive items then bugger off and not even answer his phone, as if Rodney didn't know that.  
“I along with everyone in the department tried contacting you,” the man glared and tapped his pen on his desk. He went off, explaining how Rodney wasn't even reachable through E-Mail and how that wasn't acceptable. How the school expected their professors to be able to be contacted at any and all times of the day or evening.  
“And your department especially...” he eyed Rodney getting the message across. He'd given Rodney more then enough room, granted him exceptions and items no one else was privileged to.  
“I believe Zelinka even tried-went over to your place.” He leaned back in his chair seeming to have the upper hand now.  
“Yeah well.” Rodney looked off to the side, his mind racing to come up with an appropriate answer.  
Granted not going in to work for whole two days had been a mistake but Rodney couldn't help it, his body was just not going to function and he had no real warning.  
It had been a tricky and mind bending fight, it was finally at the point where Rodney knew he'd lost that he popped.  
“YOU KNOW WHAT!?” Rodney jumped to his feet, “you wanna fire me for having cancer FINE!” he poked his chest.  
His boss feigned surprise and shock.  
“YOU KNOW IT! EVERYONE KNOWS IT!” Rodney ripped his hand through the air to encompass the whole of the school, “DON'T SIT THERE LYING!”  
“Lying I'm not-”  
“YOU KNEW IT ALL ALONG! YOU'D NEVER APPROVE OF MY SCHEDULE IF YOU WERE IGNORANT! THE LOOK ON YOUR FACE-THE LOOK ON YOUR FACE-YOU CAN'T EVEN LIE! And If You Wanna Fire Me Cause I'm A CORPSE!” he shook livid, “Then go ahead! I'll drag this whole damn institution to hell! And speaking of hell...” he'd gone off there, letting the shit hole know what was wrong with the place and all the items the boss was falling down on the job on.  
Of course the guy denied it, blamed most of it on him and who ever else he could, then called security or must have, who knows.  
All Rodney knew or cared was that when he was done he turned to leave and there were two campus security guards at the door to escort him off the premises.  
Rodney huffed out a half sob and curled in on himself, he now sat in his oncologists office being told to continue with a treatment that was killing him and not even allowed the relief of effective pain killers.  
Interesting how it all ends.  
“Rodney son.”  
The ex-professor winced, he hated it when people used that term, he knew by now though that it was used when someone was getting annoyed and was wanting to be rid of him. He heard the wheels of the doctors chair along the rug, the quac-doctors khaki clad knees came into his peripheral vision. Carson was a man who'd he become fast friends with and found that for the first time in his life, maybe because he was truly at the end of his life, and therefore rope, he trusted the damn guy.  
“I know that you're concerned with the mix of chemicals and prolonged effects but-”  
“Am I getting better,” Rodney uncurled lifting his head. He sat up and crossed his arms despite how much it nearly killed him. His world whited out but he fought on, not caring that even touching his own skin was like frigid fire, his very pores igniting in searing pain. And this was on top of the overall full body ache he had from the stiff and unmoving muscles, a gift from two days before.  
His skin was tender and he could feel the layers underneath the peritoneum or whatever it was 'Carson the Quack' as Rodney was now starting to think of him in his mind, had called it. Apparently the overall membrane that held his skin onto his muscles was slightly inflamed and would get a bit worse before it got better. Rodney had been told to watch it closely and that it was going to take on a bit of fluid. He'd been ordered to come back if anything changed, right now at this point he was wondering if it had all been worth it, the chemo and passing out from weakness and pain.  
“I know this is hard to hear but-”  
“Carson do you know what it's like to rupture your esophagus from vomiting? Do you know what it's like to puke up blood and heave so damn hard you can feel your stomach move within you? It damn Jumps up your throat!? You don't! You don't know what pain I'm in!”  
Rodney broke at this point, he held his head shaking, trying to get himself under control.  
The room went eerily silent, as if he'd just trespassed committing a social taboo, something Rodney constantly did but never knew why or how he misspoke when he did such things.  
…  
For whatever reason he became angry about the idea of not being allowed the room to screw up.  
“Rodney, I know you've been through a lot but you're a fighter an'”  
“Carson ...” Today had been terrible the last thing he needed was to be told shit from his own doctor. Someone who was able to insult and harm him in the most personal, private and intimate ways, and with out anyone else knowing.  
“Don't. … Just Don't.”  
Rodney could feel Carson lean back and stare as if he were mental, it bit right through him.  
“Rodney you march in here, demand to see me. My poor secretary goes and makes room which mind you wasn't easy.” Carson shook his finger admonishing, “you demand me to give you pain pills that you can take and then tell me your cutting off your treatment. Now what in the world.”  
“I have no money Carson-”  
“You do too. Your insurance-” “not anymore.” Rodney mumbled. “-may be givin' ye' trouble but I can fix that.” Carson said.  
“Not anymore.” Rodney said.  
“What?”  
“Carson I'm not getting better-”  
“Yes ye' are. Incrementally.” Carson said.  
Rodney scoffed and wiped his face; then rolled his eyes and looked to the ceiling.  
“It's gradual but there's clear indication that you're getting better,” Carson looked over the charts in his lap.  
“So I'm getting better.”  
“Aye. An' stopping treatment now would only cause ye' to relapse. The disease would grow exponentially-you wouldn't have six months if ye' stop treatment now.” Carson lifted and dropped his shoulders, he was begging as if he were at the end of his rope.  
Rodney looked down at him, if he was going to ask this then now would be the time. “Carson … I'm wondering-*ahem!*” he cleared his throat and sat up, “I'm wondering what you're thoughts on Medical Marijuana are, do you have any kind of medi-scientifically tested knowledge about it.”  
“Yes I do.” Carson rolled backwards so he could lean against the far wall. He crossed his arms and glared at Rodney for a good long beat …/, or three. The answer was clear.  
“Listen! I'm just wondering what you think of Cannabis for ah” Rodney looked off to the side, cleared his throat again.  
“Cannabis for what Rodney,” Carson clicked his pen. Rodney could feel the man's eyes boring into him.  
“For ...” Rodney waved his hand. “Well since I can't!” He noticed that he was starting to shake, the whole damn day had been far to long, far to hard on him. That was why he was such a mess right now, running on below empty, no meat on his bones to even keep himself upright any longer. His physical condition was why he was shaking right now, he told himself, that was all. “I can't take regular pain medications, you know that! So I was wondering if the medical community has any kind of knowledge yet in the area of-”  
“Rodney.” Carson sighed and slapped the files down on the counter next to him, he rubbed his brow … then rolled close. “I've known you for a good two years now and I can tell somethin' buggin' ye'.”  
“Yes! I'm in pain!” Rodney waved his hands.  
“If you're saying what I think ye' are then please, please my friend.” Carson looked up, into his eyes, “  
Alternative medicine's are deceptive!”  
Rodney looked away, he hated that deep searching stare of Carson's, it gave him the shivers!  
“You'll feel better then you are now undergoing the chemo, but this'll only last for a while. And yes, the cancer might shrink,”  
Rodney looked into Carson's eyes.  
“This can happen.”  
“But with mine-my cancer -” Rodney said.  
“It more then likely will, but once the chemotherapy course is done,” Carson rolled back his voice going into what Rodney knew all to well, rote recitation of learned facts, teacher mode as he called it. “the patient does feel better because the cancer is no longer causing secondary symptoms and like dominoes the other symptoms being caused by the secondary symptoms are also relieved.”  
Rodney hated teacher mode, there was no true learning, no true imagination, no brain power involved. Carson hadn't figured out how or why any of it worked or seemed to care, he was too busy reacting, not thinking and planning a … Rodney searched for the word but couldn't find it, the closest he got was a power plan.  
“It's true that more chemo-treatments will make you feel lousy again for a short time. Unfortunately, the additional therapy is necessary to maximize the chance of cure. Disease frequently relapses without additional courses of treatment. Science and clinical trials have told us that.”  
Rodney shook his head.  
Carson caught his eye and looked right into him, Rodney had the great need to punch the son-of-a-bitch …  
Rodney looked away.  
“Many now dead patients are proof, an anecdote that is consistent with what science tells us.”  
That was a low blow, he knew Rodney was science itself, Carson knew that he breathed, lived, drank science; hell it was the only damn thing that had kept him alive these past … God, was it a full decade now, Shit! Rodney went to grab his head then thought better of it, the pain wasn't worth it.  
“Rodney, cancer doesn’t give up. It can’t be bargained or reasoned with. If it's not treated, it'll not stop until you're dead. And it rarely will be a pretty end.”  
“Don't patronize me Carson-”  
“I'm telling you what you seem to have forgotten about your own health Rodney!” Carson now waved his hands, “I'm trying to give you accurate knowledge of the risks and benefits, which I as a science-based physician-” Rodney scoffed. “-must provide you. If you choose palliation over true scientifically tested cures you'll be condemning yourself to an end far more brutal than's necessary-”  
“So vomiting up my own esophagus is less brutal!”Rodney popped, he pocked his chest.  
“Your not yet terminal-”  
“But I'm getting there!”  
Carson threw up his hands, looking skyward, “I donno what to tell ye', you're on the teetering edge right now-if you were te' give it all up then ye'd be giving up on your one best shot!-”  
“You say.”  
Carson leveled his gaze at Rodney, yes it was a cheap shot and petty Rodney had to admit, not to mention childish.  
Rodney shifted looking off to the side, unable to say sorry just yet.  
“Rodney propaganda paints chemotherapy as “poison,” radiation as “burning,” and surgery as “slashing”, but these are the best treatments we have thus far!”  
“Yeah well, maybe there's better out there-”  
“There isn't”  
“How do you know that!?”  
“Because I've been schooled-”  
“Oh yes tell me about that. Tell me about how the institutions of today-their meat market stamp punch outs- I work in the education system Carson! I work there! Don't shove me shit and tell me it's roses! And medicine is a business! It doesn't search for cures anymore, it searches for alleviating symptoms, Not fixing the underlying problem! You know that!”  
“Rodney! Without treatment you're dooming yourself to a terrible death!”  
Rodney glared hard, “such as passing out in my own feces-having tile marks on my face because I spent a day-a day Carson, on the bathroom floor!?” Rodney shook livid. His one deeply close and trusted friend, the one person he'd allowed get into his very heart was now betraying him when he needed the damn support, the emotional help the most.  
It seemed that today no matter what direction Rodney turned a door-hell a wall was slammed in his face. He'd been denied a job or even compensation for all the hard work and years he'd put into that damn facility and now he was being denied his very rights to his own private body.

His say over his very life and the direction it was taking was being cut off in quick order and he didn't like it.

“Rodney you'll have the sort of end untreated cancer patients suffered hundreds of years ago, before there was effective therapy.” Carson whined, actually whined begging, all his fight ebbing away as if he'd given up.  
“I couldn't get up! I couldn't move!” Rodney pointed at himself, “I laid there for the rest of the day then had to slither back to bed! I wasn't even able to wash it off Carson!”  
Carson patted the air, as if trying to calm a wild animal, “Rodney, the seductive promise of a cure without pain and hair falling out, without nausea lures people, like you,” Carson flapped his hand at Rodney, “to havens of quackery and that's the road I see you going down now.” this time he kept his voice level, quiet; soft. “Rodney if you do this, if you stop treatment, go down this road-  
“I have no choice Carson.”  
“Yes you do.”  
“No I don't.” Rodney said.  
“Yes-”  
“I lost my insurance-job-Zelinka-my only reason-hell Carson I lost my apartment by now probably!” Rodney didn't know that for sure but by the end of next month if he didn't figure out how to pay rent he'd be out, gone, homeless... and what would it matter, he'd die on the street from cancer eating him alive with nothing but a concrete side walk for his pillow; if he was lucky and wasn't beaten to death first by a band of punk teens. Rodney shook his fist, head bowed, glaring at it.  
“Rodney.”  
…  
“Rodney”  
…  
“Rodney I didn't know that.”  
Silence descended, heavy and un-breathable, he heard the sound of the chair wheels on the carpet, felt Carson draw near.  
“I know we are close, do ye' feel that same way?”  
Rodney squirmed, unable and unsure how to respond.  
“Let me pay for ye' treatment-”  
“Wha-”  
“Rodney it's only a few more left an' I think you have a chance-”  
“Yeah but that won't keep me housed, it won't-”  
“I don't know what to do about tha' but ye' need te' finish this.”  
Rodney saw a hand appear next to himself, he looked over to see that Carson had put his head on the exam table next to him, his arms crossed pillowing.  
“Rodney dying from untreated cancer is terrible and I don't want you to endure tha.”  
Carson looked up into his eyes and clicked his pen.  
He actually seemed serious, and suddenly distant now. … Rodney frowned, it was odd, like some wall had come down.  
“Rodney, Untreated cancer can mean a bowel obstruction. It can mean having a nasogastric tube to drain your digestive juices to prevent you from throwing up.”  
“I wish I had a tube to keep me from puking.” Rodney said.  
“It can mean bleeding because you don’t have enough platelets to clot. Ye' can bleed inte' the brain-a hemorrhagic stroke.”  
Rodney crossed his arms, this was sounding far to astronomical to be real and Carson's attitude only enforced that. His disbelieving haughtiness, as if he knew better.  
“It can mean bleeding from the rectum incessantly not just your throat or stomach Rodney. And, because it's necessary to have many transfusions, immune reactions can chew up new platelets as fast as they’re infused. Rodney, it can mean horrific cachexia-your cheeks-you being so sunken that your face looks like the skull underlying it.”  
“I already look like-I am that! You're telling me to continue with a treatment that put me in that state!”  
“Yes but worse then this Rodney! To the point where you're unable to get outta bed!”  
“I already barely get out of bed! I can't move Carson! This isn't new to me!”  
“Rodney, your lungs will progressively fill with fluid! You'll chock on your own secretions. You'll have shortness of breath-an unrelenting feeling of suffocation with no possibility of relief. Your belly will fill with ascites fluid due to a liver chock full of tumor. There will be a progressive decline in mental function due to brain metastases. Rodney dying from cancer can mean so many horrific things that they're to numerous to include. Modern medicine can alleviate these symptoms-”  
“Yeah but they can't reverse the disease process.”  
“Yes it can Rodney and I'm trying to give you the best possible outcome-choice … Rodney …” Carson rolled away putting more then just emotional distance between them. It was as if Carson had suddenly cut himself off, as if he'd been told that Rodney was dead already and he was now speaking to a … an android, a corpse; a ghost even! It was terrible and odd. “Alright, I know ye'r depressed an' a bit upset-”  
“I'm upset! Lookit yourself!” Rodney waved his hand over Carson.  
Carson leaned forward exhaling in one long slow shaky breath, he put his elbows on his knees holding his thick, envying head of hair. He stared at the ground for a few minutes then tapped his foot.  
Rodney didn't like it, it felt like being manhandled.  
“Rodney I'm ye' friend and … I ...” he clasped his hands and looked off to the side, “I feel very close te' ye' … and since I do I'm going te' be blunt. Ye' need-I think ye' need counseling right now-”  
Rodney grabbed at his head, once again realized there wasn't hair there so he wrung what little skin he had and breathed … just breathed for the life of him-and did his damnedest not to scream.  
“Ye' in denial-”  
Rodney made a noise, couldn't help it, thankfully Carson ignored it.  
“-and depressed. But the worst part is, that I think you don't want to face the truth that in order for you to get better-to have a chance at living the rest of your life then you need to go through this yes, very painful-wearing-and trying procedures-along with the chemo.”  
“Carson.”  
“I'm going to write a contract for pain medication and I want ye' te' sign it.”  
“Carson.”  
“What.”  
Rodney liked Carson because he was so darn straight forward, he'd liked the guy for that, maybe it was something about being Scottish, he didn't know. But right now the damn quack was really pissing him off.  
“Rodney if you're going to be relieved of the symptoms you're suffering from then that requires you to actually accept treatment.”  
“Carson … “ the fight left him, Rodney had had enough, “Carson I can't. … I just can't.”  
“Rodney I know what ye've been through and I know how horrible it is,-”  
“Oh really? Have you had cancer Carson?”  
Carson's mouth snapped shut and he froze, he leaned back then rolled away, near the wall. He looked right at Rodney. “God doesn't give you a cross you can't bear.”  
Rodney pressed his mouth tight, he shook his fist. He'd heard this one, one to many times.  
One to many, and to have it coming from Carson of all people now. Someone who was able to insult and harm him in the most personal, private and intimate ways this one really took the cake.  
“Carson.” He kept his voice as level as possible.  
…  
Waited till Carson actually responded.  
…  
It was pissing him off that Carson was waiting as well, on what.  
Rodney looked up, his sight pinning Carson to the damn wall. The fucker wasn't giving, just sat there his gaze level, brow in that dead pan neolithic stare.  
Rodney had to remind himself that only the most simple flunkies were allowed a Medical degree, and really at this point why was he wasting his time arguing with someone who was too simple to even comprehend his argument much less his side of the conversation. This whole thing was a practice in insanity, repeating an action that turned up the same result, over and over and over again.  
“Did you ever think-just hear me out Rodney,” Carson patted the air with one hand.  
Rodney was instantly reminded of a show he'd passed while flipping the channels. It was one of the programs he stayed far away from, the jokes being political and just nuts, but the image he caught was shocking, and he thought at the time, had explained the show and it's opinions well. The picture was of a small bat with a tin-foil hat on. The image was introducing a segment called “Bat Shit Serious” or “Insane”, either way the coined term was clear, what Rodney saw at this point mirrored that exactly. Carson's words matched what that little voice over for the small animal said, “Now just hear me out” before it took a dump on the words.  
Rodney smelled a dump of biblical proportions coming on.  
“Could this be that this might be part of God's bigger plan for ye'? Maybe it's a test, a learning lesson.”  
Rodney clamped down on his explosion … he breathed in  
…  
and again.  
…  
and again.  
…  
“Have you?”  
“What?” Carson rocked forward his arms crossed tight around himself, as if he was the one needing protection.  
“Have you been ill.”  
“Yes Rodney I hav-”  
“Have you been Cancerous.”  
…  
Carson merely pressed his lips tight together.  
…  
“Rodney … I've been an oncologist for 25 years now-”  
“Yes. Well. Have you ever had Cancer.”  
Rodney waited. … he drummed his fingers on his leg feeling the bone there, no muscle, just his fingers-bone tips hitting his femur.  
“No. I haven't.” Carson mumbled, he leaned back shifting uncomfortably, messing with the flaps of his coat. “but I don't want ye' te' give up on me. I've been wrokin'-fightin' hard right along side ye' with-in this-”  
“Oh have you. Have you been vomiting blood with me. Have you been up all night as I've lost weight from sweating pain alone?”  
Carson didn't answer.  
“I think that the reason you're trying to convince me to keep on this damn regimen is because you're in cahoots-” “Cahhots?”Carson said. “-with a drug company or the hospital itself-”  
“No.” Carson partially stood, adjusted his white coat and sat down.  
“-and it would hurt your reputation,” Rodney said.  
“No I'm not Rodney.” Carson stilled and went silent. He licked his lips wincing and blinking his eyes he seemed frustrated. “I know ye' hurtin' and I know,” he leaned forward elbows on knees but held Rodney's gaze, he clasped his own hands, wringing them “I know how horrible it is but ye' nee 'te live. For me if no one else. Please Rodney.”  
“I'm trying to live! I'm trying to live healthy-or die more healthy then I would-”  
“Rodney there's no such thing as dying healthy, that's a lie-” Carson mumbled so quiet Rodney couldn't catch it.  
“What!?”  
Carson huffed out a defeated sigh instead, “Rodney I know you're feelin' ill and the Chemo will take your energy and strength away but-”  
“My condition may be better but I'm feelin' worse Carson.”  
“Right now you're a bit depressed-”  
“A lot worse-What!?”  
Carson stopped, thankfully, Rodney really didn't need this right now.  
Rodney shifted and looked at the worthless prescription in his hand, “right,” he glared at Carson, “here,” and shoved the damn worthless piece of paper at the quack.  
“Rodney you need-”  
“I need help. You can't give me that.” he slid off the table and went for his jacket, he was cold despite the fact that it was a good 70 Degrees Fahrenheit out, even more indoors.  
“The treatments-”  
“Are worthless.”  
“Rodney what's gotten into you.”  
“Truth.”  
“What!?” Carson gasped, as if exasperated and unable to believe what he'd just heard, as if Rodney was suddenly a mad man.  
“You heard me.” Rodney shoved his arms into his jacket and opened the door. “Oh and there is such a thing as a cross bigger then you can bear, it's called death, that's a cross bigger then you can bear! And illness that kills you! Anything that kills you is something bigger then you can bear!”  
He left with out a glance back.  
~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
> 
> **A/N 2:** I fought with this and fought with this and FOUGHT with this. Reading it over after some time now I see that it really is bad and in NEED of a good overhaul of an edit. The chapter goes no where and says nothing. Ah! *throws hands up!* well, I'll do it later, no time now.  >X-P! =-D! 
> 
> **A/N 3:** This was difficult to write, not only did I actually look stuff up but I couldn't find one damn bit of info. I needed.  >X-P! Sadly there is just NO info out there for, “refusing chemo” or “when a patient decides to stop treatment” etc. etc. >X-P! So this is the BEST I could do with the ONE article I found, which terribly and sadly was ALL opinion. >X-P! Lots of help there. >X-P!. 
> 
> I am SO Totally gonna re-write this.


	11. Oil - Chapter XI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Accidentally high, dazed and confused, this is Rodney.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Posted:** Sunday June 1, 2014 **Author:** GlassesG33k  
>  **Chapter Rating:** PG-13  
>  **Word Count:** 1817  
>   
>  **Cross-posted**  
>  **Archive of Our Own –** http://archiveofourown.org/works/1347706/chapters/2811697,  
>  **Live Journal –** http://glassesg33k.livejournal.com/  
>  **Dreamwidth –** http://glassesg33k.dreamwidth.org/  
>  **Tumblr –** hobbyhermit.tumblr.com  
>  **Facebook –** https://www.facebook.com/hobby.hermit  
>   
>  **Special Thanks:** TT, or TactlessTruth for all of her help. :-)  
>  **A/N:** This was the chapter that nearly didn't happen.  
>  Life changes on a dime and mine did thankfully temporarily here. By now you all probably know that I have been using Tactless Truths computer to post on here. It's an old 2007 HP model and is still coughing and sputtering along. Several times in the past it has been a close miss when starting it back from scratch. It nearly couldn't connect to the internet and the battery died on me. Reformatting, De-Fragging and doing other such things are a NO GO for this old model if I want to stay connected to the internet, it's sadly on it's last legs.  
>  The battery just died and well, the both of us being un-employeed (Tactless being to ill to work, and me being far to badly injured, bad back and all; which incidentally has been the reason I have had the “free time” to write and post so proficiently as of late.) Initially after the battery died I was able to use Tactless' family computer, which was so incredibly KIND and LOVING of her mother. It has been a hard thing for her to share it, that has been clear. She has been so gracious and wonderful about the whole thing, I am truly grateful to her for her help. =-)  
>  I was able to purchase a new battery that is spectacular compared to the old one and at a great rate too.  
>  I got it from AtBatt.com so a shout out to them if you need anything cheap in the line of power.  
>  But all this aside to say this has set me back on writing is a bit of an understatement.  
>  So far I had about three chapters written that still needed piecing together before the initial FAST Edit and post I usually do. (On this note please pray for niffer, she was going to be my BETA Reader then was robbed. Everything was stolen from her family. She could truly use any kind of encouragement and help you have to offer at this time.)  
>  But until I can get my hands on a new laptop in some way it looks like the chapters, if I manage to post them at all … well, I don't know when or if I'll be able to post any more.  
>  It looks like this'll be the last post and the last chapter for a while.  
>  I'm truly sorry for this and well, if anyone has an old computer that functions well enough then message me, it might just help. =-)  
>  But I thought I'd let you all know that until further notice I don't know when or if I'll be able to post anymore to this story and many others I have in the works here, on the old laptop. They really were fascinating me and I really wanted to see how they were gonna end.  
>  And I just wanted to say THANK YOU ALL for all of your support and I truly WISH I could have finished this story on a timely basis.  
>  I'm sorry to flunk out like this, but well, Real Life rears it's hideous head and once again has stopped my endeavors to further myself. =-(!  
>  …  
>  I'm not sure what else to say so I'll just leave it at this.  
>  **G.G.  
>  P.S. – But just in-case check back periodically to see if I've managed to post more.**
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Chapter**   
**XI Eleven XI**

 

Rodney wandered out to his car …  
Empty …  
Hollow …  
The one friend he had, had told him that God himself had caused him to be ill and that he should tough it out. Rodney rubbed his face, hard … what did Carson think he'd been doing for the past, oh decade or so now huh!? Laying down and dying!?  
Why the hell else would he have been in here today begging for pain pills! Begging for some kind of alternative medicine that didn't kill him off-didn't exact such a high price! …  
Rodney's mind whirled off revving like an engine stuck in some odd gear.  
He went on and on to himself, smacking the damn steering wheel and punching the dashboard, not like it did much his fist bounced right off his whole damn arm to thin and weak to do more then injure himself. Rodney turned his arm and looked, a bruise already was forming and that was truly bad, it'd swell great, just great.  
Rodney held his head and that's when he broke …  
He'd heard the terms before, whispered in relation to other patients, people he'd never met but knew their condition was worthless; worm food what they were.  
His case, his life-he'd been talked about like that now; gotten stared at, the sidelong glances, the pitying mumbles as he passed nurses and others in the medical office; treated with sugary sweet cooing and kid gloves by all the nurses who had to get near him …  
His mind whirled again and he started gasping the air growing tight, thick. He'd heard it all, stage four or five, whatever, Rodney didn't know and didn't care-it didn't matter, dead was dead and he was worm food now. One of the patients talked about in hushed whispers and mumbles, stared at by everyone-the other patients and all. The voo-doo practitioners-hell the fact that the doc had even mentioned God showed it all, showed how far behind the medical profession was-that it was not a science-barely an art. “Shouldn't even be paid! I paid! With my life-blood-body! My damn account!” Rodney smacked what he could again bouncing in his seat.  
What little he'd managed to scrape together, whittle out of his meager paychecks when he wasn't having to shell out for college and student supplies that the school should have been paying for. What he had left or managed to scrape together with his bare fingertips, the damn things bleeding along with his wallet for twisting it so darn tight in an attempt to juggle everything-it'd bottomed out, his bank account. The tiny smattering of money he'd managed to scrape together had been wiped away from the damn medical-cancer treatments and whatnot. He'd been in debt for far to long now and his last ditch attempt at living …  
Rodney turned to the side …  
His own damn friend had taken his money and not cured him.  
…  
Had robbed him blind then blamed his illness and the fact that he had not gotten better on his own body's unwillingness to heal and a mythical deity.  
Rodney face palmed and breathed … just breathed.  
…  
…  
…  
It's what he got for letting someone-anyone in.  
He held his face, oddly feeling ashamed for the fact that he'd never had any friends. He'd been taught from day one not to trust anyone then gone and screwed up at the last bit – the last step of his life.  
“God of all things!”  
~~~~~  
After a while Rodney stared out the windshield, his mind bereft of thought, his soul just … empty … no feeling at all. He looked down at his arm and hands, it was like he was hollow and the non-feeling-the void, the, for lack of a better way to describe it, numbness, was so overcoming it had seeped out into his physical body.  
He looked at the areas of his hands and arms, bruises, deep ones, forming; his blood no longer able to clot like it could. … from what the damn quack had told him it was going to swell-or could, ballooning up like some kind of goose egg if he wasn't lucky. All cause of the damn … whatever it was called.  
“Shit.” Rodney pinched his brow and winced, the pain from earlier suddenly re-presenting itself,“great. Just great.” He looked over at the passenger seat beside him then dug out the damn samples he'd been given. It was the same old crap the secretaries and nurses always shoved at him and everyone else he suspected, who might walk in through the door. Rodney always threw it all out, never even glancing at it.  
It was more like he'd been going to an upscale pusher then a real doctors office. No solutions were to be found, no cures, healing fixes, merely drugs, pills, medications and more drugs, it was terrible.  
Rodney noticed he was shaking, his whole body one quivering mass of pain, a dungeon master couldn't have gotten better results. He looked out the windshield again and noticed his vision was jittery … he looked over to the various trial prescriptions on the seat beside him.  
…  
Giving in and giving up he dug around till he found something that at least tried for reasonable. It was a relatively small dosage (he hoped) and it didn't say anything about side effects, on the small packaging at least. It said it was something great and would cure all his ills, Rodney scoffed, “yeah right.” he looked for interactions and anything that said he couldn't operate heavy machinery etc. etc. etc.  
It said nothing, or nothing that he could tell.  
Despite this he decided to not take one, at least not until he got home.  
Driving though, driving changed his mind. He was no further then the second stop light, not fifteen minutes later and he was so wracked, so blind, his eyes were watering, vision going dark and blurry from the torturous pain! He looked at the pill on the seat next to him then ripped open the packaging and popped the damn thing bereft of what else to do. He swug as much water as he could knowing that he would need it, then dug around for something to barf in, if it was going to come right back up. He manged to get his hands on the waste basket in the back seat, something he'd learned many years ago to carry with him. He'd had many a day when he'd used it before even getting to work. Driving while vomiting was not fun but by this time he was used to it.  
Rodney was on his way home when he decided to see where the car would take him.  
“Interesting,” it took him to the one area he'd spent most of his life as of late trying to ignore or get away from. “Maybe Freud was right,” Rodney snorted to himself, “what a pile of crap.” He'd been told once by a more then dull person, that if you wanted someone to think about something or notice an item then tell said person to not think about it, or look at it, listen to it, etc. etc.  
Maybe it was because of this fact alone that Rodney's car seemed drawn to the one place he wished didn't exist, pot alley; or that's what he called it.  
It was a good sized area right around the college where students could come to get things cheap or have a job while they were in school. Basically it was like any other place around a university, many half run down shops shoved in-between the pompous and plush ones; each and every area either newly built or lovingly fixed up and remodeled. Each store offered either the most out of style or the latest and greatest in whatever was in at the time. Every store was stuck up or in reaction to the surrounding environment and all the snotty nosed rich brats just plain didn't care.  
One constant though was the good deals to be found along with cozy out the the way corners to read and study. There were more then enough hidey holes as Rodney had heard it once called, places where you could sleep between jobs or classes or even daydream. How he had loved those times in his youth. It had been the only good time in his life.  
He rolled down the window and a waft of smells hit him, good food was another constant in these areas it seemed. Everywhere Rodney turned all he could see were homey nooks and crannies, places to study and eat, all nestled away in these corners. Rodney wondered if this would be a good area to think and if this was why his car was taking him to this area. A good place to straighten out what was going on in his life and ponder over what had already happened.  
He drove till he was near the one street he'd done his best to pretend didn't exist. The next thing Rodney knew he was parked and out of his car, staring at it like he'd just been beamed down to Earth and didn't know what to do with himself now. He blinked and then turned, letting his feet take him to … wherever …  
~~~  
Rodney walked, not noticing people or things, except for the few stares and glares he got. He'd changed before going into the voo-doo practitioners office, “mud hut is more like it,” Rodney mumbled and someone bugged their eyes out at him as they passed, pressing themselves into the crowd to give him a wide berth.  
“Whatever.”  
He waltzed along not knowing where his feet were taking him or where he had been. He found himself at the shop he'd come to a few nights before. He floated in and plopped himself down hard, as if he were a marionette and his strings had just been cut. He sat, dejected, holding his head; lost.  
His mind was blank, there were no answers or solutions as far as he could see, and now his stomach was getting upset again, great.  
~~~~~


	12. Oil - Chapter XII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rodney finally gets a **_hint_** of relief!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Posted:** Sunday June 1, 2014 Author: GlassesG33k  
>  **Chapter Rating:** PG-13  
>  **Word Count:** 4,862
> 
> **Cross-posted**  
>  **Archive of Our Own –** http://archiveofourown.org/works/1347706/chapters/2811697,  
>  **Live Journal –** http://glassesg33k.livejournal.com/  
>  **Dreamwidth –** http://glassesg33k.dreamwidth.org/  
>  **Tumblr –** hobbyhermit.tumblr.com  
>  **Facebook –** https://www.facebook.com/hobby.hermit
> 
> **Special Thanks:** TT, or TactlessTruth for all of her help. :-)  
>  **A/N 1:** I thought I'd go ahead and post what I have so far, and this is it. =-/! So enjoy. =-).  
>  **A/N 2:** Personally I like the song/poem, let me know if you like it too, it popped up in my head while watching X-Files fan videos and it explained this darn fan fiction exactly. I HAD to put it in. =-) So getting an opinion on it, good bad or wonderfully horrible, would really help, thanks ;-D!
> 
> **A/N3:** I'm opening this up to anyone out there. Take it, run with it, edit it, put your own ending on it, continue it, what ever you want, just do with it what you will. My life at the moment is far to Topsy Turvy to write more and what I do have left I don't know when or if I'll ever be able to post it, so I'm leaving it up to you guys. Take this story from this point forward and see what you can do with it, please for me. =-) Just link and reference back to this and I'll be more then happy. =-)  
>  And let me know if you wrote anything, I'd really like to see what the community comes up with. ;-D! 'Two Thumbs Up!' =-D  
> Hugs and Love to you all =-)  
> G.G. =-)
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Chapter**   
**XII Twelve XII**

 

 

Maybe it was his inborn need to fix every damn thing he saw wrong, whatever it was when Mr. Uptight came walking in through the door something in John popped.  
He had no idea what it was but when he looked up and saw what he initially thought was a newly homeless man shuffle in he nearly leapt over the counter and hugged the guy up, shoving wads of cash at him. John stopped himself and went to turn away when he noticed it was the man from earlier, the guy who'd watched T.V. with him that one night.  
“crap.”  
Disgusted outrage that Mr. Uptight would come back warred with his need to keep peace and help the seemingly poor guy out.  
For lack of what else to do and his damn curiosity overcoming him John made his way over to the man deciding to do some damage control and properly introduced himself, or tried to.  
“Hi, I'm Sheppard, the owner of this establishment how can I help you,” maybe if he managed to cut off the inevitable tantrum he'd be rid of this customer that much faster.  
“Hum?” The man seemed to come out of a daze, his eyes were lost in thought and he looked worn to the bone. “do-ah, do you have anything for nausea-an-” he gulped, “and ah.” he faded off for a minute, “cancer-ahh, no.” he bent his head digging around in his pockets, “pain from chemoo-o … or ah, no.”  
John gasped, or thought he did, thankfully no one seemed to notice. He'd forgotten what the guy had said so long ago now, no wonder he looked like shit, he took a step back.  
Mr. Uptight rubbed his forehead, “vomiting from … ” he waved his hand, “I donno anymore …” he frowned as if his head was hurting him and rubbed his eyes a bit too hard, John winced in sympathy for the poor guys eye balls. Something clearly wasn't right but John couldn't put his finger on what it was. The first time they'd met he was sure the man was high and he'd been terribly wrong, he didn't want to make that mistake again. Though, there was something different about the guy this time, he was kinda … dull?  
John looked the man up and down, his form was baggy, as if his skin were an afterthought that now hung on him; a suit that had at one time fit tight and now, like spandex, was wrinkling and folding where it'd been stretched too far.  
John wasn't great with figuring out personalities and “social shit” as he'd termed it in his head. Maybe it was just the illness, John had heard that dehydration and starvation could really throw a person off and if anyone was needing food it was this poor guy. Once again the overpowering urge to hug the guy up and try and cure him hit hard, John shoved it away. Just to make sure he tried looking for the usual signs, blown out pupils and whatnot but unfortunately the guys' head was angled downward. More then likely the guy was just sick, John figured that it was the treatments the guy was going through that were throwing him off. Suddenly Mr. Uptight snapped his fingers quick and sharp, like he had just been tired earlier and had gotten his second wind. “Cancer! Do you have anything for cancerous vomiting.” the guy nodded as if he were a five year old having accomplished a great deed of remembering.  
“What's you're name by the way,” John felt one of his brow's frown and stood off about to go get what he could for the man. It was clear he wasn't right at the moment, if he was better off then he would have gone down to the Farmacy that was literally with in the very same strip mall as John's place.  
“Ahh actually,” the man took out some bits of paper, “if you could just tea, just tea.”  
“Tea?”  
“Yeah, tea. Some of the weakest stuff you've got-and here-here's a list of my allergies.” he shoved some papers into John's hand and put his head down.  
Wow. He was sick.  
John took a step back, he could feel his own brow arch all the way to his hairline. What to do now …  
He decided he might as well help the guy out, make him better or at least ease his suffering as best he could by way of getting some food into the man.  
John went into the back and let his day manager know that he'd like her to take over again, she seemed burdened but somewhat relieved all at the same time. The twisted up tense look vanished from her face to be one of more relaxed uptight, 'about to go and do some hard work done' look.  
“Than-ah. Alright. You know, you need the rest.” She took a step back and looked him up and down, “Just go and sit yourself down, have a nice long lunch and let me take care of everything alright?”  
“Hey-you gonna be manning the store sir?” one of John's good friends came up to him.  
“Oh ah, no, no you can-” he stopped and turned to everyone realizing he had been going off the deep end the last few days.  
He'd gotten angry and had literally taken over single highhandedly running the shop for a good two weeks or so now. It'd nearly killed him once again, just like it had at the beginning, when he'd first opened up the place. He'd lost near ten pounds and hadn't slept with how busy they suddenly were. Customers had literally been banging away on their front door at five a.m. trying to get in just so they could get their stuff before work. John had never expected this and it had been hell setting John's nerves off every damn time. Once he'd been ripped form sleep still chocking on the dust of the desert and had army crawled to the back kitchen area before his arms touched the tile and he'd realized he wasn't in Afghanistan anymore.  
He'd taken to sleeping on the couch once again after that, all the lights on and music up playing loud enough to blend in with the customers demanding. A cacophony of noise instead of the sudden rat-tatt-tatt of knocking or in John's ears, bullets or guns going off; punctuated by silence.  
It was the way he'd lived, tried to sleep when he'd initially started the store, tense and watchful, unable to do more then doze. He'd laid there, eyes wide shut, limp, his mind racing, going over every single scenario and what he could do to fix, dissolve, or correct it; even deal with it. That's the way it had been when he'd first gotten the place, this time though he dozed causing the waking night terrors to be that much worse, jarring when he finally came to the realization that he wasn't there.  
Instant shame and humiliation would be the second thing that hit, finding out-realizing that he'd just been there, back in Afghanistan which didn't exist anymore-he was here-home; in America not there-lost, dying, sucking in dust for air instead of oxygen.  
It was this, the raging banshees screaming out, pulling him under every damn night as of late that caused him to quit trying to sleep at all.  
Up until this point John had been proud of the fact that he'd gotten to where he could sleep with a few low lights on and no music playing. He'd pulled off sleeping in a closed, quiet, dark back bedroom, the four walls closing in on him and stuffy. But he'd managed it, not seeing the sky-open air surrounding him.  
John blinked … maybe it was best he was homeless at first, after wards; even if he had the money to live indoors he probably couldn't, more then likely he would have ended up saving the money on rent and lived outdoors anyway.  
John rocked back on his feet, well, maybe he would have at least rented a campsite-tent-or at least a sleeping bag, something better then being beaten on a sidewalk when he'd tried to curl up and doze for fifteen minutes.  
John shook himself coming back to the here and now, it'd been hell and working with out sleep had been John's only way to cope with all the false alarms and cranky demanding public.  
It had not worked, at all, only causing him to be that much more cranky and uptight himself and a bit short with his staff.  
John had nearly fired someone just that morning, something he swore to himself he'd never do and it was then that he finally realized, he needed a break; immediately. (Or he decided, as soon as he could manage.)  
“I'm done-you all can go back to work and I'll just take a few days off here!” John lifted his hands letting everyone know. “I know I've been a bit uptight as of late but I'll try to kick back, smoke some-” he smirked and thankfully a few nervous chuckles popped out of a few people in back, “and relax for a while. From here on out Chyah will be in charge and Elizabeth the head will be in charge till … I donno.” John waved his arms, “three days from now or till further notice, how about that.” John flapped his arms and smiled.  
Someone actually hooted, then one person wooed.  
Then a clap, and the next thing John knew everyone was clapping, someone yelled “Thank you sir!”  
“Bout time!”  
“Thank God!”  
“I'm not that bad am I?”  
The room suddenly kind of quieted, “Yes you are Mr. Sheppard!”  
John just smiled and shook his head.  
“Well You'll all get some time off from me, and on me! You all can take three days off-” everyone went into an uproar, “as-As Long As-” John curled his hands around his mouth, “AS LONG AS YOU CAN GET SOMEONE TO COVER FOR YOU!”  
“Aw Man!”  
“Woo!” and laughter ensued.  
John was glad and was a bit more then humiliated since he'd never known he'd been that bad to deal with when he was uptight.  
~~~~~~~  
“Mu”*snort!* Rodney lifted his head it being bumped by someone or thing. He'd dozed off again and how he got down here-oh yeah, he'd just dumped his one last hope of living and been being fired. Great.  
Just great.  
He held his head moaning, worried and relieved all at once, he was supposed to go through at least two to three more treatments. Rodney wondered if he'd get better because he was off the whole mess or if he'd get worse, his body being over taken kind of like strep throat, how if you didn't take all the anti-biotic it'd come back raging and take you out in one fell swoop, no word at all.  
Rodney stared off into the distance visions of death in all manner and how he'd be taken care of swimming before his eyes. He just hoped it wasn't like that one horror show he watched as a kid, “Crypt Keeper” with that darn skeleton. On the episode he had caught this one guy had sat down and started talking into the camera which was apparently the “dead” man. The guy said how he knew the camera or “dead” guy was still alive and that he'd noticed that the camera/dead guy was an organ donor, he then began to speak in great detail about how having your organs removed really hurt …  
Rodney shivered.  
“Hey you okay?” Something waved in front of his eyes but it seemed translucent, ethereal even. Rodney just hoped he'd be truly and entirely dead before he was cremated, one of his biggest worries was to be either embalmed or cremated while still alive.  
*shudder!*  
“Hey!”  
Rodney looked up, “oh!” he sat back dragging himself into the here and now.  
“You okay there?” the guy from who knows, slid into the seat across from him. He was dressed a bit differently, didn't have an apron, hat, gloves, or anything on like usual it seemed. His tacky company pants were replaced with nice form fitting jeans, an old broken in pair that fit the guys body perfectly. His blouse was replaced with a sweatshirt, when Rodney looked up it was the glasses that caught him. The guys skin was beautiful golden, a pale almost tan fading away to laugh-lines at the corners of his eyes the golden rimmed glasses perfectly accenting his features.  
Rodney licked his lips and nearly wept.  
The guys face contorted as if hurt and he nodded at Rodney, licking his own lips, “you got your tea.” Rodney looked down to see a cup being shoved towards him.  
“Oh, oh thank God,” Rodney reached forward and nearly wept, again.  
He pulled the stuff near him and prayed his guts out, which really was better then barfing them out, Rodney figured if their gonna be removed at least have them go with the chance of something good or worthwhile being done with them. Rodney begged anyone listening to just be allowed the dignity of keeping his stomach down while he sat here.  
He tried to pick the cup up but his hands shook too badly, his arms nearly giving out, “Damn!” He had no idea why this was happening, there as no reason for it! Maybe it was because of the darn shit hole of a day he'd had, his resources depleted past empty.  
He felt the weight of a stare then the darn guys voice was back, “her-here.” Rodney reached for the cup again, “here.”  
Rodney looked up to see the guy slide the cup away from him, taking it; Rodney leaned forward nearly following the damn thing.  
The blue jeans guy-what was his name? Did he ever say it? Rodney couldn't recall but the guy stood up cup in hand, “here. Come'ere. Follow me.” he walked away and Rodney blinked, not sure what to do … follow or … was he in trouble? Or about to be in trouble? …  
Rodney shook his head, why not just go after the damn cup of tea, he was dying anyway, if the guy did anything it didn't really matter did it? Of course the idea of being beaten or what have you then dumped out back as trash didn't appeal to him. The image of his blindingly pale skin peeking out from under his clothes catching someone's eye as they wandered by the dumpster danced before his eyes.  
*shudder!*  
Despite himself Rodney got up trying to find where his darn cup of tea had gotten to. He walked into the back of the store past the kitchen area-oh yeah! Rodney recalled seeing it before, now it was starting to come back to him, damn his mind was really a mess; these darn pills were really taking it out of him. He found the guy who had his tea and went to walk up to him but the guy just slipped further into the back, past the cooking and prep area and into a whole other section. He crossed through a door way that was built onto a thick outside-or sound proofing wall it seemed. When he entered he noticed the whole place was kind of cramped and well, kind of had a feeling and look of a home.  
The sound from the store faded away and his ears had an urge to pop, as if he were stepping into a recording studio, from what Rodney had been taught.  
It was kind of odd to have the kitchen an noise, a cacophony of the store-muzack; people, pots, pans clanging and all, fade away and be just beside him as if the sound itself was obeying some kind of thick glass wall.  
Rodney gulped and then he noticed it, a slight faint noise, it was … Rodney jumped, some guy was talking! He listened hard tilting his head to the side.  
 _To broken to touch_  
 _to broken to feel_  
 _to broken to breath_  
 _take in what's real_  
He looked for the source of the noise but couldn't find it.  
From what Rodney could make out it was literally the back of the store, the entire length of it had been extended at least ten feet or more and made into a sort of trailer type apartment. Rodney didn't want to even ask or know what kind of building, business and residential cods were being broken having this place attached to the fairly new store. He knew it was more then likely totally illegal though, in far to many obvious and various ways.  
 _to hollow to care_  
 _to hollow to feel_  
 _to hollow to know_  
 _( I'm numb)_  
 _and this is-_  
 _can't be real_  
“Here,” the guy put the cup of tea down on what was clearly his kitchen table. Rodney looked to the side and noticed that the other half of the, living room was it? The area attached to the kitchen/dining area was split in half one part being made up to be an office space, a desk sat cluttered with papers and electronic devices, the main one being what seemed to be a wimpy attempt to pimp out a laptop.  
Everywhere Rodney looked everything was made specifically for space saving, almost like some boat or yacht. Every single surface was of the highest quality and polished to shine but it was also packed into some of the smallest space possible. Infact (as Rodney literally turned in a circle he heard a chuckle) it looked like most of the cupboards, furniture and everything here was literally made from or more then likely taken from a Yacht,“Huh.”  
A Venetian blind was pulled over a large plate glass window, it's slats open to let in light. The size of the darn thing took up half the opposite wall. On either side there were rectangular sections able to be opened to let air in. There was a glint and Rodney noticed that the whole of the window had a kind of dark sun-glasses tinting to it, the sort that would be reflective on the other side and have a mirror like silver to it; a one way mirror of sorts.  
“Did you steal all this?” Rodney looked down not sure he wanted to sit, he didn't want to be incriminated simply by being here.  
“What?”  
Suddenly a booming chorus ignited and it made itself known.  
 _can't touch_  
 _can't feel_  
 _I know this isn't-can't be real_  
 _to frigid to love_  
 _to broken to breath_  
 _can't take in what you give me!_  
Rodney covered his ears, “What is that!?” He turned again trying to catch where the damn sound was coming from, it seemed that the whole place was vibrating like those darn cars he hated, the ones that came booming along with an earth shattering bass tone.  
“Oh sorry,” the skinny hot guy scrambled digging, he bent over a few things and Rodney noticed how nicely curved the man's ass was.  
The guy picked up what looked like a remote and pushed a button. Silence engulfed like some kind of sucking void. Rodney blinked and noticed the whole place suddenly felt starkly different, like the damn noise had never been off from the day it had been built.  
“Sorry I ah,” the store manager-owner who ever he was tossed the remote aside. “It helps me. It's a local group. Olson's.”  
“Ah!” Rodney nodded feigning knowledge of what the heck the guy was saying then looked at the table where his tea had been placed. He wavered not wanting to sit down. He swayed turning in a circle again, he still felt that if he made himself comfortable he'd be arrested instantly or in the future-either way he didn't want to die in prison that was for sure.  
“Are you ahh … ” he waved his hand over everything, “ah-ah,” he finally stopped turning and then started in on the detailed visual search of each and every single item, “you're a drug dealer aren't you?”  
“What!?” the guy crossed his arms.  
“Well, this all came from a yacht and I've never seen it put into a land locked-heck anything that wasn't  
associated with water before-how'd you get it?”  
“From a friend.”  
“Yeah, uh huh.”  
“Listen this was a bad idea,” the guy lifted his arm, moving to usher him out, “how about we go back out front.”  
“Yeah I'd like that but ah, can I get that to go.”  
“Yeah sure.”  
“So how did you get into this business anyway.”  
“Well,” at this, to Rodney's great dismay, the guy stopped seeming to think hard as if it were some long drawn out difficult thing. He set the cup back down, “here why don't you sit.”  
Rodney glanced down, all he wanted was a yes or no, a quick answer.  
“It won't bite'ch'yeah,” the guy smirked and did this thing with his shoulders all casual looking like he was leaning backwards.  
“Ahh.”  
“If you want we can go out front but you look like you're about to keel over where you stand.”  
“Actually I think I'm about to puke, you got ahh” Rodney pointed and thankfully the guy showed him back into the far reaches of the place. He opened a door and once again it looked far to tight and claustrophobic, like some yacht.  
It was a good half an hour before he was able to even show his face again. While losing what he didn't have Rodney realized he was probably going to die and if he was this close to death he might as well feel good for a short amount of time.  
He wasn't sure if the pill had come up, it seemed that half of it had but not all of it, whether that was a good or bad thing Rodney wasn't sure.  
He wanted to say Chemo and pain pills sucked ass but that's be an insult to ass sucking and really Chemo wasn't anywhere near that nice, or even pleasurable for any party.  
…  
Maybe the damn hospitals wallet though, that sure seemed to be pleased.  
Rodney heaved again and spat.  
He eventually crawled out of the bathroom to find the guy sitting on the now cleaned up couch reading a magazine. The damn music was back on but now it was what the store had playing, tacky and relaxing. Rodney looked around and found that the whole place had been cleaned up. It actually looked nice now that there weren't clothes, papers, junk food, to go cartons and trash laying all over. Rodney sniffed the air and his stomach roiled, the guy had even sprayed one of those darn mist scents. God Rodney hated those!  
He sneezed despite himself.  
“You okay?” the guys eyes were wide with hope and … almost happiness? … or something, Rodney couldn't tell what.  
“Yeah I-” he waved his hand wishing he had a Kleenex, “I just have allergies.”  
The guy's face went worried, “Oh crap, I didn't-” he jumped up opening windows.  
Rodney plopped himself down on the couch, “sorry about ah-all...” he waved his hand and then got chocked up. It hit him then that he was about to be forced to apologize to a stranger he'd just met for vomiting in his bathroom. He was so damn sick and now was getting emotional about it, in the worst possible place, at the worst possible time!  
God!  
He held his face, hiding from it all. Here he was, about to die in the back of a drug dealers wanna be pimped out trailer in the back of a pot store! What a way to go!  
How had his life, so damn promising, his mind; been wasted and come to this!  
“Hey you okay?”  
…  
“Do, do ah,”  
Rodney heard the guy scrambling around, “do you need me to ah, call a doc. Or, or somethin'?” Rodney caught a glimpse of him wiping his hands on his jeans.  
It took a few minutes but after a while he was able to breath again, “no no. I'm, I'm ahh,” he gulped wiping his eyes, “allergies. Just allergies. Here.” he made gimme motions towards his tea.  
The guy picked it up and brought it over to him.  
“Probably cold by now.”  
“I don't care I need this stuff right now,” Rodney went to hold it then, “this has pot in it right?” he looked up at the guy.  
“Yeah,yeah.” the skinny dealer sat down next to him.  
“Thanks,” he went to take the drink but he was still too weak his hands shaking, actually he'd been vibrating at some level the whole day.  
“Here.” The guy gingerly thread an arm behind Rodney and held the cup in his other hand. He brought it to Rodney's mouth and tilted it just enough so Rodney could sip out of it.  
Ohh … ahh … the liquid was soothing and down right wonderful.  
Rodney soaked it in, savoring …  
“Ohh yeah,” he sighed when the guy finally drew the cup away.  
He noticed he was leaning up against the man and for the first time in … well, his whole life, he felt warm and wrapped in soft fuzziness.  
“Oh God that was good.”  
“Good?” the guy smiled at him, then shifted looking forwards out the large plate glass window. “Thanks.”  
“Huh?” Rodney turned to him.  
“I made it,” the guy lifted the cup, showing it off.  
“Oh,” Rodney turned away, nodding.  
He thought for a bit, his mind wandering off.  
…  
He wondered for a minute if the pot would interact with the Chemo and other meds he was already taking, but once again he dismissed it. Granted he'd caved and taken one of the pain meds that morning but it hadn't done one damn bit of good. It was why he was here now.  
…  
“Hey?” Rodney said.  
“Yeah?”  
“What's your name?” Rodney said.  
“John.”  
*Scoff!*  
“What,” John said.  
“Oh like John Dough?” Rodney said.  
Rodney got what looked like a frown, “No. Like John Sheppard. Why.”  
“Sheppard huh.”  
“Yeah.”  
Rodney thought on that, rolling it around in his mind like candy on his tongue, smooth and buttery.  
“I think I like you John Sheppard. I like Sheppard.” he nodded matter of factly.  
“Well,” the guy grunted slipping out from underneath him, “thanks.”  
Rodney was laid on his side the world going wonderfully soft and puppy like.  
Puppies … puppies were so soft, so soft, like kitties … so soft-awesome.  
*chuckle*  
Rodney looked up to see the guy smiling down at him,“what.”  
“Puppies huh.”  
“What?” Rodney said, the guy-John guy wasn't making sense.  
“Just go to sleep.”  
“Hey!”  
The guy-John stopped.  
“What to know my name!?”  
“Sure,” the guy smirked down at him, as if he'd said something really funny.  
“It's Rodney,” he nodded, “Meredith, Rodney McKay.”  
“McKay huh.”  
“Yeah. If you wanna befriends-I've never had friends before.”  
“Oh you haven't have you.”  
“No. I need a friend. Mom-Mom says-she said before she died...” Rodney rubbed his eyes, he was crying again, “She died John! Mom died!”  
“I'm sorry buddy,” John petted his head.  
“She died and I couldn't save her! And she hated me! And my sister” he sniffed, “My sister she left! She hated me! She was my only friend and she said she never wanted to see me again! Said I was a terrible brother! I couldn't save her! I couldn't I couldn't save her from the bullies! And she said-” he gasped, “she said I was bad and terrible and Mom said too! And she lef-”  
“Shh … Shhh....” Rodney felt a weight stroking him, it ran lightly over his head and down his shoulder.  
“She left me-turned her back and never looked back!”  
“Shhh! SSHHH!!!”  
Rodney snuffled and snorkeled, “I need a Kleenex.”  
John looked around, worried. “Ahh...” he jumped up and before he came back darkness faded in then over took.  
Rodney felt something, pressure wiping-rough on his nose. It hurt, burning sharp and terrible-then nothing.  
Rodney was gone.  
~~~~~~~  
John stared down at the heap on his couch.  
He clutched at the cup in his hand.  
It didn't even look like a person was there just a pile of blankets the poor man, Rodney Meredith McKay, was so damn skinny.  
“Shit dude,” John tossed the paper towel he had across the room almost hitting the waste basket.  
So close but so far, John tried for a smirk but just couldn't bring himself to it.  
He looked down at the guy again and inhaled long and tense then let it go. He looked around and not knowing what else to do with himself he decided why not get some of the financial stuff done.  
There was nothing else he could do.

~~~~~~~~~~~


End file.
